THE EDUCATION QUESTION.
The _coup d’état_ was complete. M. Drakovics had accepted the
ultimatum conveyed to him by Stefanovics with a submission which was
as touching as it was generally unexpected. It was true, he said, that
the overwork and excitement of the last few weeks had so affected his
health that in a moment of irritation he had lost command of his
temper, and addressed the Queen in terms which were wanting in the
respect due to her position. That this one indiscretion should blot
out the remembrance of long years of faithful service to the Crown and
to Thracia was only just, and he would retire meekly into private
life, not to leave it again unless summoned by some peril threatening
his beloved country. This pathetic farewell was not, of course,
intended for the public ear. The ‘Gazette’ and other newspapers
announced merely that the Premier’s resignation was due to the state
of his health, but a more detailed explanation was necessary for the
benefit of the Ministry and of the foreign Courts which were connected
by ties of relationship or of traditional policy with that of
Bellaviste. By these Courts the news of the fall of M. Drakovics and
of Cyril’s accession to power was received and acknowledged without
comment or opposition--a fact which would have confirmed Cyril, had he
needed confirmation, in the belief that the end was not yet. The
Powers were waiting for some further development of the situation.
As for the members of the Drakovics Cabinet, they accepted the state
of affairs, for the most part, with great philosophy. One or two of
the more violent partisans of Bishop Philaret resigned rather than
become involved in the nomination of Bishop Socrates as Metropolitan;
but the rest, the most important of whom was M. Milénovics, the
Minister of Public Works, transferred their allegiance to Cyril
without difficulty. A possible cause of unpleasantness was also
removed by the resignation of Vassili Drakovics, who had occupied the
position which in England would be called that of Parliamentary
Under-Secretary to his more distinguished relative. If he had not
taken this step, it would have been difficult to know what to do with
him, since to allow him to remain in the Treasury would have been to
keep M. Drakovics informed of the financial circumstances of his
successors, with which it was most undesirable that he should be
acquainted; but his appointment to the lucrative, if slightly
incongruous, post of curator of the National Museum in Bellaviste
immediately upon his resignation, satisfied all parties. The populace
of Bellaviste, finding the streets patrolled by troops, public
meetings prohibited, and a strict censorship maintained over the
Press, realised that the new Administration was as well able to
protect itself as the old one had been, and that it did so in much the
same way, and they acquiesced contentedly in the change.
Cyril was far too prudent to expose his slender forces to defeat in a
Legislature elected to support M. Drakovics, and the only business
which he laid before the House was the voting of a valedictory address
to the ex-Premier--a patriotic duty to which no opposition could be
offered. As soon as the address had been voted, the Legislature was
dissolved, and Thracia found itself in the throes, somewhat artificial
in the case of a Balkan State, of a General Election. Thanks to the
custom of the country, according to which it was unnecessary for a
Minister to occupy a seat in the Legislature, Cyril and the majority
of his colleagues were not troubled by any need of looking after their
own positions; but the fight was none the less carefully organised.
During the time which elapsed between the dissolution and the actual
election, Cyril worked out his dispositions with the greatest
precision, observing with amusement that M. Drakovics was still acting
the part of the sulky Achilles, evidently waiting until the sinews of
war should fail the opposite party. His expectation that victory would
fall into his hands without an effort on his part was so obvious that
his inaction began at last to alarm the more nervous of Cyril’s
colleagues, who thought that the ex-Premier must have some great
_coup_ in preparation. Their leader succeeded in calming their
apprehensions by reminding them of the solid financial basis on which
the Cabinet rested, but not before the uneasiness had spread to the
Palace, where M. Drakovics was regarded much as a foreign foe would
have been.
“Cyril,” said Ernestine, when her Prime Minister sought an interview
with her one day, “are you sure we shall win?”
“I never prophesy unless I have got a straight tip, but I see no
reason why we should not win.”
“But elections always seem to be so uncertain.”
“They need not be so here, at any rate. It is the natural thing for
the Government to win, and I believe it will.”
“But isn’t there something not quite right about that?”
“There might be in England, but not in Thracia. What good is a
Government if it is not to tell the people how to vote?”
“But suppose they won’t vote as you tell them?”
“What should make them turn rusty? And besides, the local authorities
throughout the country have received the warning they have always been
accustomed to get from Drakovics, that any district which elects an
Opposition candidate will immediately suffer a change in its governing
body. Of course other precautions have been taken as well, but that is
sufficient to show them that we mean business.”
“But did not M. Drakovics himself begin his career by winning an
election against the Government candidate?”
“Yes, but the Government was caught napping first, and then bungled
the whole thing. I don’t intend to repeat either mistake.”
“If he comes back there will be a struggle between him and me, for we
cannot both rule in Thracia after what has happened. But if your
precautions are so complete, Cyril, what is M. Drakovics depending
upon? You don’t think that he has really accepted his defeat, and
means to retire altogether?”
“Not in the least. He is counting on our cash giving out. He knows to
a piastre what he left in the treasury, and can calculate what we
could raise in the way of advances out of our own pockets, and
perhaps--as you once suggested--by selling your jewels. He thinks, no
doubt, that we shall be stranded just about the time that the
elections come off--I refrained purposely from hurrying them on in
order to give him a little pleasurable excitement--that we shall try
frantically to borrow money all over Europe and be unable to do it,
that the army will mutiny for want of pay, and that the permanent
officials everywhere will turn to the man who was so long responsible
for their salaries, and that he will have a walk-over. That is as may
be.”
“But how is it that we shall not be stranded?”
“Ah, that is a state secret.”
“But it ought not to be kept a secret from me.”
“I’m afraid it must be, in this case. You see, if your mother or any
of your relations ask you where we got the money, I want you to be
able to answer with a clear conscience that you don’t know.”
“But why should they ask? I daresay Ottilie will--she is always
interested in politics--but I don’t think it would occur to my
mother.”
“Not unless she was put up to it, but it would not surprise me if she
was. Did I understand you to mean that the Princess of Dardania is
coming here?”
“Yes; she has been talking of it for some time, but in her letter this
morning she says that she hopes to come as soon as the elections are
over, and to bring the children as well.”
“‘When the hurly-burly’s done; when the battle’s lost and won’? Does
she intend to stay long?”
“Not long in Bellaviste, I think, but she talks of taking a villa at
Praka for the summer. They have no sea-coast in Dardania, of course,
and it will be so good for the children to spend a month or two by the
sea. It will be delightful for me to have her so close. I daresay I
shall take Michael and two or three attendants, and stay with her for
a week or so.”
“Very delightful. I suppose, Ernestine, that it is no use----”
“Now, Cyril, I know that you are going to say something against
Ottilie, and I don’t want to hear it. You have a prejudice against
her, and I am sorry for it, but I can’t give her up because you and
she don’t get on.”
“‘Don’t get on’ is a mild term for the relations existing between her
Royal Highness and myself. You know that she detests me, and that she
would do anything in the world to injure me?”
“You don’t imagine that I would let her turn me against you?”
“Quite the contrary. I fear that you may defend me so vigorously when
she speaks against me as to arouse her suspicions and give her an
opening for action. When you saw her last you and I were at daggers
drawn, you know, and the sudden change of front----”
“But what would it signify if she did suspect? If you would only allow
me, I would tell her everything, and enlist her on our side. I am sure
she would sympathise with us.”
“Undoubtedly! No, Ernestine--I am speaking seriously--I must put my
veto upon that. If you inform the Princess of Dardania of our
engagement, you are deliberately ruining our hopes.”
“I would never tell her without your leave, of course. But you will
persist in regarding Ottilie as an intriguer, and she is my favourite
cousin, an excellent wife, and the best mother that I know.”
“I would not attempt to deny it. But perhaps you will allow me to
point out that she practically governs Dardania, since her husband is
only too well pleased to go out hunting while she does his work. She
has got him into hot water several times through her
endeavours--which, I will do her the justice to say, are generally
successful--to add to the power and influence of the principality, and
she has a finger in every pie in Europe. Not an intriguer! My dear
Ernestine, that woman is one of the great intriguers of the world.”
“At least, she is my cousin,” said Ernestine, much vexed, “and
therefore deserves consideration at your hands. Well, we will not talk
of her, Cyril, since we cannot agree, and I will remember your
warnings, but I cannot behave coldly to her--far less have nothing to
do with her, as you evidently wish. She and I have always been special
friends.”
With this the subject was dropped, and Cyril found political affairs
sufficiently engrossing for some time afterwards to cause him to
forget his old enemy. His forecast of the conduct of M. Drakovics
proved correct. Immediately before the elections there was a
recurrence all over the kingdom of the activity of the ex-Premier’s
party, although their leader himself continued to remain in
retirement. Deliberate bids were made for the support of the army and
of the Government officials, as Cyril had prophesied, and riotous mobs
assembled as though at a preconcerted signal in all the larger towns,
and perambulated the country. If M. Drakovics had been right in his
calculations, he would have snatched a complete victory, but so well
had the secret of the Chevalier Goldberg’s millions been kept, that
the chief source of his opponent’s strength was absolutely unknown to
him. The army remained loyal, the officials fulfilled their bounden
duty in promoting the return of Government candidates, the priests who
had inculcated rebellion were arrested without provoking an
insurrection, and the mobs melted away at the sight of the troops. The
Ministry met the Legislature with a majority almost equalling that
which had first raised M. Drakovics to power, and Europe awoke to the
fact that Count Mortimer was established as Premier of Thracia. To the
Powers which had expected to see a conflict in which both aspirants to
office would find political destruction, leaving the way open for the
administration of advice _ad libitum_ to the Queen, and even (for a
consideration) of help in money or men, the reality was startling, but
there was nothing to do except to submit to circumstances. The
Mortimer Ministry was in possession, and it had evidently come to
stay.
Already, before the dissolution, Bishop Socrates had been nominated as
Metropolitan, and duly elected by the Synod. Until the elections were
over he held his post as it were on sufferance, feeling not at all
sure that he might not find himself suddenly superseded by Bishop
Philaret; but now he settled down to improve the discipline of his
diocese, his labours being much lightened by the depression which had
fallen upon the more vigorous malcontents, owing to the collapse of
their hopes. Very shortly after the meeting of the Legislature the
Estimates were introduced and promptly voted, the greatest admiration
and praise being expressed for the patriotic conduct of the new
Premier, who had, as it was now understood, advanced from his own
pocket a sum large enough to tide the country over the election. This
sum, for which he was firm in refusing to accept any interest, was
duly repaid to him, and by him handed over immediately to Herr
Stockbaum, whose employer wrote at once to say that he had never
believed Cyril would be able to repay the money, and he had therefore
written it off as a bad debt. Merely to avoid giving him the trouble
of altering his accounts, would not Count Mortimer do him the favour
of accepting it? But Cyril was obdurate. He had a high respect for
money, coupled with a lively sense that in some positions it was
advisable to be known to be without it, and his bank-account remained
at its former modest level, much to the disgust of M. Drakovics, who
felt certain that he was on the track of a very ugly conspiracy, which
might be exposed with much profit if only he could put his finger on
the source from which his successor had obtained the much needed
assistance.
That the money was not a part of Cyril’s hereditary fortune, and could
not be the result of savings from his salary, no one knew better than
M. Drakovics, who had always been wont to keep an eye (but privately,
in order not to hurt their feelings) on the pecuniary position of his
colleagues. Moreover, it had not been provided by any of the Powers,
the ex-Premier’s spies assured him of this, and just at present there
was no company or individual seeking concessions from whom it might
have been received as a bribe. To deepen the mystery, the offices
occupied at Frankfort by Messrs Outis, Niemand, and Other were closed
immediately after the money had been repaid to them, as M. Drakovics
ascertained easily, and the enterprising firm disappeared as suddenly
as it had arisen, leaving not a rack behind.
It was while M. Drakovics was pursuing these financial researches, in
the vain hope of tracking down his successful rival and bringing him
to ruin, that the Princess of Dardania arrived at Bellaviste with her
four children--the Princesses Elisabeth and Ludmilla and the Princes
Alexis and Kazimir, whose arrival was hailed with joy by King Michael.
The Prince of Dardania had gone to Pavelsburg on a visit to the
Scythian Court; but his wife, who had been invited to accompany him,
was of opinion that her presence was more needed in Thracia. For some
days she observed with great care the facts which came to her notice,
and arrived at several provisional conclusions, which she laid aside
for future consideration, but she made no attempt to discuss matters
with her cousin. It was Ernestine herself who first touched upon the
subject of politics, when the Princess had spent about a week at the
Palace.
“I have had such a strange letter from mamma,” said the Queen, coming
in her impulsive way into the room where her cousin was sitting alone.
“I wrote to ask when she was coming to see me again, for it is a year
and a half since she was here, and she says that she will not enter
Thracia so long as Count Mortimer is Premier.”
“Does she expect him to resign in order to open the way for her to
return?”
“Oh no, but she seems to expect me to turn him out. She says that she
sympathises with me deeply in having such a man forced upon me, but
that the present state of affairs is entirely my own fault, since the
Court influence, properly used, would have prevented him altogether
from attaining power. She advises me to set in motion intrigues
against him, and so render his position untenable. When that is
effected she will gladly return to Bellaviste; but she cannot consent
to humiliate herself by meeting Count Mortimer under present
circumstances.”
“My dear Nestchen, your mother is a frightfully bad conspirator! Do
you mean to say that she has written that in black and white? Why,
Count Mortimer could desire nothing better in order to strengthen his
position than the publication of such a letter, which he has no doubt
read before it reached you. And when do you intend to set these
intrigues on foot?”
“Never!” said the Queen emphatically. “I cannot tell why, Ottilie, but
you, like every one else, seem to think that I regard Count Mortimer
as an enemy.”
“Well, Nestchen, you must pardon us if we are wrong, but when I saw
you last, at Tatarjé, I certainly heard from your own lips that you
hated Count Mortimer, and that he was the cause of all the unhappiness
of your married life.”
“Oh, please don’t remind me of the dreadful things I said then! It
makes me ashamed to think that I could ever have been so blind. Wasn’t
it only a just retribution that such a short time after I had been
abusing Count Mortimer, Michael and I should owe our very lives to his
devotion and presence of mind?”
“It provided you with a reason for modifying your opinion of him, no
doubt. But surely, Ernestine, your gratitude might have stopped short
of allowing him to make himself the most powerful man in Thracia. You
may be sure that it will not be long before he will make use of his
elevation to try and oust you from the regency.” This last remark, be
it observed, was what is known in vulgar parlance as a feeler.
“Oust me from the regency!” cried Ernestine hotly; then her tone
changed. “My dear Ottilie, how little you know him!” she said, with a
superior smile. “I assure you that you are quite mistaken.”
“But he has ousted Drakovics, and is in possession of his place;”--the
Princess was observing her cousin curiously, but with something of
satisfaction in her look.
“No, there you are wrong again, Ottilie. He would be in his old post
now, if it were not for me. When M. Drakovics tried to force upon me
an appointment which was most distasteful to me for many reasons, I
sent for Count Mortimer and ordered him to oppose him. I can’t tell
you the whole story now, but although it has ended in Count Mortimer’s
becoming Premier, it was due to me that he severed himself from M.
Drakovics at all.”
“How delightful to have a knight-errant at command, ready to fight
one’s battles in this way! Really, Nestchen, I envy you. I wish we had
a Count Mortimer (with a few variations) in Dardania. But you don’t
imagine that he would have accepted your commission if it had not
fallen in with his own views, and promised to lead to the goal at
which he was secretly aiming?”
“I can’t judge about that, since I am not Count Mortimer’s confessor.”
The Queen spoke sharply, and as though the thought were an unwelcome
one. “At any rate, if the idea of the Premiership had entered his
mind, I am sure that he well deserved the prize, and I feel quite
content that he should hold it.”
“There is nothing like a thorough conversion when one is about it. And
you are now in the habit of taking Count Mortimer’s advice on every
subject that may happen to be under discussion, I suppose?”
“I ask it, certainly--and in nearly every case I take it.”
“That is just what I thought. Well, Ernestine, doesn’t it strike you
that it would have been kinder to let me know this before I visited
you?”
“Why, what possible difference can it make to you, Ottilie?”
“I came here,” pursued the Princess of Dardania sadly, “full of hope
for the future. It seemed to me that this visit of mine to you would
mark the beginning of the fulfilment of the compact which you and I
made with one another a year ago, before this change had come over
you. Our children were to grow up together, and to learn to love one
another from their earliest years, you will remember. Surely you might
at least have warned me not to bring Lida with me.”
“But why should you not bring Lida? What change has come over me? I
cannot imagine what you mean.”
“My dear Ernestine, you must be very well aware that Count Mortimer
would never sanction a marriage between your son and any child of
mine.”
“I am sure you are mistaken, Ottilie. Count Mortimer would be as
anxious to secure Michael’s happiness as we are. I am so certain of
this, that nothing but my agreement with you to keep the matter secret
has prevented me from telling him of our plan. I have only been
waiting for your consent.”
“And nothing would induce me to give it. To betray our scheme to Count
Mortimer would be to ruin it. No, Ernestine, hear me out. Though you
have so strangely constituted yourself his champion, you cannot forget
the man’s past record. He would have sacrificed his own brother by a
loveless marriage for the sake of a political advantage--he would have
sacrificed me. So much for his general practice. Now as to this
particular case. I refused to be sacrificed, and succeeded in
outwitting him: he has never forgiven me. Even if political
considerations rendered the match between Michael and Lida
advisable--and from his point of view they do not--I believe that his
hatred for me would lead him to prevent its taking place. His aim will
be to marry Michael to one of Sigismund’s daughters--you know what
their surroundings are like, and what amount of choice would be given
to them in the matter, poor things!--and to tell him of our compact
would simply ensure its never being fulfilled.”
“But Michael and Lida could not be married without his knowledge.
Besides, I am sure I could persuade him----”
“When you know as much of Count Mortimer as I do, Ernestine, you will
know that you might as well try to persuade a stone wall.” The Queen
flushed indignantly, but checked the protest which had nearly escaped
her lips. “Our hope lies in his having no suspicion of what is going
on until the young people are old enough to have come to an
understanding. Then you would have everything on your side in
preventing their being sacrificed to political considerations; and if,
after all, Count Mortimer was too strong for us, we could arrange for
the children to be married as Alexis and I were.”
“A runaway match!” said the Queen, shocked, but a recollection that
occurred to her served to modify the feeling. It was not so very long
ago that she herself had suggested a similar proceeding to Cyril. “I
don’t for a moment think that we shall be obliged to adopt such an
expedient, Ottilie. I am sorry you won’t let me tell Count Mortimer
what my wishes are, for I think you are making a mistake, but please
understand that I was never more determined to adhere to our compact.
My first duty now is to Michael, and nothing--not even Count
Mortimer--shall induce me to allow him to be sacrificed to political
expediency.”
“If you please, madame,” said Paula von Hilfenstein, appearing at the
door, “your private secretary” (Baroness Paula called him “the Herr
private secretary von Essen”) “has brought a number of letters, and
asks whether your Majesty will be pleased to sign them.”
“Just as I was having my first long talk with you, Ottilie!” said the
Queen, rising. “Well, the Regent must be at the service of the State,
I suppose; but do wait here, and I will come back when I have
finished.”
She rustled out of the room, her long black robes trailing after her,
and the Princess watched her with a curious, meditative smile.
“Ah, my dear Ernestine,” she reflected, “it is a good thing I came
here when I did! It is the merest chance that your new friend has not
already broached a project of marriage for Michael, and converted you
to his views. In not doing so he has committed a fault in tactics, by
which I shall contrive to profit. But what I should most like to know
is, what there is exactly between you and him. You are in love with
him, of course--any one could see that--and I have not a doubt that he
knows it, but the question is, do you know it as well? That innocent
manner of yours might mean either that you were quite ignorant or that
you had everything settled with him. Now which is it?”
She sat musing, with her chin supported on her hand, weighing
probabilities in her mind, and not knowing that the information she
needed was at that moment on its way to her. The messenger of fate
burst into the room in the person of King Michael, following a wild
fumbling at the door, and pursued by retributive justice in the form
of Baroness Paula. “Majestät!” she was beginning, “why have you run
away from your nurse?” but like the intruder, she stopped short on
catching sight of the Princess of Dardania.
“I will take care of him until his nurse comes to fetch him,” said the
Princess pleasantly, holding out her hand to the child, and Baroness
Paula retreated. “What do you want here, my little Michael?”
“I want to hide something--something of mamma’s,” returned King
Michael, recovering his presence of mind, and beginning to pull the
curtains about. “You won’t tell, will you, Tant’ Ottilie?”
“Certainly not. What is it--a piece of paper?”
“Mamma keeps it in her Bible,” returned King Michael, exhibiting a
crumpled paper ball, “and to-day it fell out. I want her to look for
it. It will be so funny. Oh dear, there isn’t a place anywhere!” with
a heavy sigh, “and I hear nursie coming.”
“Why not smooth it out, and put it under the corner of the rug?” asked
the Princess. “Your mother would never think of looking there.”
The King obeyed precipitately, and was patting the rug down with his
hand to make it lie flat again when Mrs Jones appeared, panting.
“Well, sir, and wherever have you been and got to, may I ask? There
was your cousins all playin’ so quiet and pretty, and me just turnin’
my back like for a moment, when you up and slip out of the nursery.
You come along back this minute, if you please, or I’ll tell Count
Mortimer of you when he asks me next how you’ve been behavin’ yourself
of late. You’re gettin’ beyond me, and that I’ve said before. Beggin’
your Highness’s pardon, ma’am, but anything like his Majesty’s
contrary ways no one ever did see.”
The Princess of Dardania smiled graciously as Mrs Jones disappeared,
dragging her refractory charge by the hand, but the moment the door
was shut she moved her chair across to the corner of the rug with
which King Michael had been busied. What the paper he had purloined
might contain she had no idea, but it was evidently precious to
Ernestine, and her cousin was too clever a woman to let slip any
chance of gaining information that might prove valuable. Stooping
slightly as she sat, she lifted the corner of the rug, holding it
ready to drop into its place again on the slightest alarm, and took up
the paper. It was in Ernestine’s writing, and at first sight resembled
nothing so much as the calendars which schoolboys make to show how
many days remain before the holidays, but the Princess’s eyes gleamed
as she realised its purport. At the top was written, “April 12th,
18--” (the date was that of the preceding year), and below came “June
18th,” King Michael’s birthday, repeated twelve times. Two of these
were crossed off, bringing the record to the time at which the
Princess held it in her hand.
“April 12th of last year!” she said to herself. “That was when she was
wandering about the country with him. Michael was three then, he is
just five now. By the time the end of this list is reached he will be
sixteen, he will have come of age. And after that, what? Nothing! But
no doubt it would be unnecessary, as well as dangerous, to add
anything further. They have an understanding, then. But what if she
married him secretly on that 12th of April? Oh, if only she did, I
could ruin him with a word! Is it possible? Married, actually married,
and concealing the fact lest she should lose the regency, and he his
chance of the Premiership? Could it be? Let me think; I must not be
rash. It would not do to put myself in his power by accusing him of
having married her, and finding that he had not. He would make me the
laughingstock of Europe. Besides, is it probable? No; he is not the
man to risk his political future for the sake of a woman. Take it,
then, that they are merely engaged. They will be married when Michael
is of age--if I allow it. I do not think I shall, but it might be
necessary to buy his acquiescence in something--perhaps in Michael’s
marriage with Lida, and then I should have an equivalent to offer.
Silence for the present, then. I hold the card, but do not show it.
And above all things, I must keep Ernestine from telling me the whole
affair. I could get her to confide in me now, if I liked to try, but
it would hamper my action. No; she has chosen to link her fortunes
with his, and she must not be surprised if I fight for my own hand.”
The sound of the opening of the anteroom door reached her. Ernestine
was returning. She replaced the paper, dropped the rug over it, and
moved her chair back to its former position. When the Queen entered
the room, her cousin looked up lazily.
“I don’t know whether you have lost any of your State documents,
Ernestine, but Michael was very busy hiding a paper of some kind under
the rug just now.”
The Queen stooped to pick up the paper. Her face flushed as she saw
what it was, and she thrust it hastily into her pocket, with a glance
at the Princess, whose eyes were fixed on her novel.
“What was Michael doing here?” she asked.
“Oh, he escaped from his nurse and ran in, that was all. What a
splendid little fellow he is, Ernestine--so high-spirited and
impatient of control! And I think it is so wise of you to keep him
with you so long. I had practically lost my boys when they were his
age--they were always about with their father. Of course that is all
right, for Alexis is no disciplinarian; but when I think of
Sigismund’s poor little sons, how they are made into soldiers before
they are out of the cradle, so to speak, and tormented with drill all
day long, it makes me feel that Michael is far better off with his
mother alone.”
“Some one was saying the other day that he was getting too old to be
left entirely with women,” said the Queen.
“Ah, I know who that was--Count Mortimer, of course. He actually made
the same remark to Fräulein von Staubach. The poor thing told me
about it, and owned that it came as a painful shock to her.” The
Princess forgot to mention that when the first surprise had passed,
Fräulein von Staubach had admitted the truth of Cyril’s words.
“Really, Ernestine, you will be obliged to take measures to keep that
man in his place. He interferes in everything.”
“I think you forget that I value Count Mortimer’s opinion highly,
Ottilie. I have myself often thought of late that a stronger hand over
him would be good for Michael. He is very passionate at times, and
fearfully self-willed. He ought to be taught self-control, and I am
afraid we are too gentle with him.”
“Ah, that is Count Mortimer again! He wants the poor child brought up
like English boys, who call their father ‘sir’ and ‘the governor,’ and
never see their mother except in full dress. Seriously, Ernestine,
think before you hand your boy over either to the English or the
German system. You have to be both father and mother to him, remember.
At least keep him with you as long as possible.”
“I will. You are right, Ottilie. It was only because your advice
agreed so well with my own wishes that I distrusted its wisdom at
first. Of course Michael must be educated as a German--his father
would have wished it, I am sure--but I will not let him be subjected
to military discipline for some time yet.”
“I think I have put a spoke in your wheel for the present, my dear
Count!” said the Princess to herself. “While you are discovering that,
I shall hope to find a few other ways of smoothing your path. Just now
I should like to see Drakovics, and find out exactly what he knows
about your matrimonial schemes.”
When the Princess of Dardania conceived a wish, it was usually not
long before she contrived to gratify it, and the first portion, at any
rate, of this one was attained by means of a morning visit to the town
Museum. It was only natural that the curator should conduct her Royal
Highness round the building, and in the course of conversation with
him, the Princess learned that M. Drakovics was anxious to sell a part
of his Praka estate as building-land. As the Princess wished to buy
land on which to build her proposed villa, the next step was obviously
to run over to Praka and see the estate, in order to report upon it to
her husband. Unfortunately for the Princess’s hopes, although the
building-land was satisfactory, the interview with the ex-Premier was
not. M. Drakovics could not forget the day when he had shared with
Cyril the ignominy of being outwitted by the Princess Ottilie of
Mœsia, and while he was obviously ready to work any ill to Cyril that
he conveniently could, he was much more anxious to find out what his
visitor knew than to impart any information of his own. As this was
exactly the Princess’s case, the two diplomatists parted with mutual
dissatisfaction, tempered only in the one case by the prospect of
receiving a good price for his land, and in the other by the hope of
possessing in the future a coign of vantage from which to direct the
development of the situation. But if the Princess had failed to find
the helper she desired in her campaign against Cyril, she had at least
succeeded in leading Ernestine to thwart him in the matter which at
present he had most at heart, the method of the little King’s
education. When, after due consultation with the officials of the
Court and the Treasury, he had drawn up a scheme constituting a
technically separate household for the King, and arranging for the
appointment of military and other instructors, Ernestine refused so
much as to consider the subject at present.
“He is only five years old, Cyril. Even his father would have left him
under my control until he was seven.”
“But he is not under your control--that is the worst of it. I do not
want to hurt your feelings, Ernestine, but you must have noticed that
it is no use to tell him to do anything unless you are prepared to
back up your order with physical force. It is the same with his nurse
and with Fräulein von Staubach.”
The Queen flushed with vexation. “You cannot think that you know as
much about children as a mother does,” she said.
“Won’t you allow that I know more about boys, having been one myself?”
“Not about German boys.” She thought of her cousin’s remarks on the
subject. “We educate our children much more by means of love than you
English do.”
“My dear Ernestine, I don’t care what the means may be, so long as the
result is satisfactory, which it is not at present. Your boy wants
discipline. If his father had lived, his authority would have
reinforced yours.”
The word “discipline” was an unfortunate one, for Ernestine’s thoughts
flew at once to the poor little Hercynian Princes whose woes the
Princess of Dardania had described so feelingly. “I like Michael to be
happy and free,” she said. “I will not have him turned into a
miniature drill-sergeant.”
“No one wishes him to be, but he ought to feel that there is some
authority he must recognise. It is not only you and the other women
who spoil him, Ernestine, but Batzen and the rest as well. The other
day I caught him imitating poor old Batzen to his face, with Pavlovics
and two of the pages looking on and laughing at him.”
“How can they help it when he is so quaint? He picks up things in the
most extraordinary way. You want to crush all the fun out of him.”
“My dear Ernestine, you seem to think that I have some personal
feeling in the matter. Please leave me out of account. What I am
anxious about is the future. The boy is a king already. There are
plenty of people, and always will be, to flatter and encourage him,
but if he once gets out of hand we shall never be able to train him
properly. And what will the result be? I am not exactly what any one
would call straitlaced, but I don’t mind saying that even you have
seen enough of the world to know that he will simply rush to ruin. He
must learn to obey--to subordinate his own wishes to those of
others--if he is ever to rule. I only wish we could have sent him to
an English public school. The games, and the association with other
boys, would have done him a world of good.”
“I knew it!” cried Ernestine, almost in tears. “I knew you wanted him
to be brought up in that barbarous English way, without even the
necessaries of life, and to break all his limbs at football.”
“Don’t misrepresent me, please. I know that the English school is out
of the question, unfortunately. Nor would I wish to take him entirely
out of your hands at his present age. All I wanted to do was to
appoint a military man as his governor, with authority to raise a
small cadet corps of little boys with whom the King could work and
drill, and learn something of discipline. Other lessons would follow,
of course, and other instructors be necessary, but Michael would not
find it such a change if things were done in this gradual way, and if
the other boys shared all his work and play.”
“That can all come later. He is too young at present. I give way to
you very often, Cyril; but I must stand firm in this. I know that it
is a temptation to let you regulate Michael’s education for me as you
do everything else; but I must not yield to it. I am his mother, and I
must use my own judgment in dealing with him. I could not bear that
his spirit should be broken at his age. Oh, yes; I know that he is
precocious; but that only means that he needs more care and tenderness
than other boys. You mean well; but how can you enter into a mother’s
feelings?”
“Very well; don’t worry about it,” said Cyril, accepting the situation
with easy philosophy when he saw that her resolution was fixed. “I was
only anxious for the child’s own good, so don’t blame me if he turns
out badly.”
He shrugged his shoulders as he went away, reflecting that even the
most sensible of women would make fools of themselves over a child,
and Ernestine--as he had long known--was not one of the most sensible
of women. It was just like her to look at things in this absurd way,
and he was sorry he had wasted his time and wounded her maternal
feelings to no purpose. After all, as she said, she left everything
else in his hands, and if she chose to ruin her boy by
over-indulgence, that was her own affair. Long afterwards, in looking
back at this time, Cyril reflected cynically that in the matter of
King Michael’s education he must have been afflicted with judicial
blindness, for it did not occur to him that it must have needed an
external stimulus to rouse Ernestine to such strong opposition to his
views. Had it done so, he would have known where to look for the
intrusive force; but he was content to ascribe her perverseness to her
own character, and the part which the Princess of Dardania had played
in the matter remained unsuspected.
The Princess was very busy for some time after this. Her bargain with
M. Drakovics for the piece of land at Praka was duly approved by her
husband (a mere form this) and ratified, and then came the business of
the building of the villa. What with interviews with architects and
contractors and her own passion for overlooking the progress of
affairs and paying surprise visits to the workmen, it is not
astonishing that the Princess of Dardania spent a good deal of time in
Thracia during the next year. To a lady of her mental and bodily
activity, it was a mere trifle to undertake the eighteen hours’
journey from Bashi Konak to Bellaviste, run down to Praka and inspect
the building operations, and return home to take her part in a Court
festivity; but she felt it necessary to apologise for her restlessness
to the Queen.
“You know,” she said, “some one must see that things are properly
done, and Alexis cannot endure to be dragged away from his hunting and
his model farm. He is quite an Englishman in that respect. I feel
dreadfully ashamed to make your house an inn in this way, Ernestine;
but I can’t resist having a peep at you and the boy, and the children
always give me so many messages for Michael. You must return the
compliment when the villa is built. I shall expect you almost to live
with me in the summer.”
Ernestine saw her come and go with a vague feeling of alarm. It seemed
to her as though Ottilie now regarded Michael as her property, held in
trust for Lida, and that these frequent visits were merely excuses for
seeing that he was being brought up according to her wishes. There was
now an effectual barrier between Cyril and the Queen on the subject of
her son’s education, and neither of them alluded to it. Ernestine
ought to have been satisfied; but she was not. She felt as though it
would have been safer to have Cyril as her confidant in the matter
than her cousin. It so happened that an invitation to Scythia for the
whole princely family prevented them from occupying the Villa
Dardanica during the first summer after its erection, and, encouraged
by her temporary emancipation from the Princess’s guardianship,
Ernestine herself suggested to Cyril that the changes which he had
proposed in the King’s surroundings should be carried into effect at
once, although the child was still only six years old. But the
opportunity had gone by. The Estimates for the year had been passed
without making the necessary provision for the change, other
employment had been found for the elderly officer selected as the
King’s governor, and nothing more could be done until the pupil
attained the age of seven.
The next year, therefore, the change took place. Mrs Jones returned to
England with a pension and the proud consciousness of duty done,
Fräulein von Staubach resumed her old post of lectrice (the Queen
hated reading aloud), a learned young Lutheran “candidate of theology”
was imported to replace the venerable Herr Batzen, and King Michael
contrived to learn much at the same time the necessity for outward
obedience to his military tutor and the delights of tyrannising over
his regiment of boys. His life was not a very arduous one, for it did
not take long for his instructors to discover that his Majesty had
ruled his own immediate circle so completely that it was impossible
without an undignified and generally unsuccessful struggle to make him
do anything that he did not wish to do. It might even be said that he
had succeeded in discovering a royal road to learning, for his natural
precocity and his strongly developed imitative faculty combined to
enable him to pick up knowledge, whether it was of a desirable
character or the reverse, with extraordinary facility.
In spite of this fairly easy life, however, the Princess of Dardania
discovered that her future son-in-law was overworked. Not content with
carrying him off to Praka for his summer holidays and inviting him to
Bashi Konak to spend Christmas, she gave him instructions to let her
know whenever his surroundings bored him or he felt that a change from
his lessons would be desirable, and an invitation immediately
followed. His mother protested, but in vain. If King Michael wished to
stay with his cousins, stay with them he would, and Ernestine did not
at first perceive that while she represented to her son law and order,
the Princess and her family were becoming more and more closely
identified in his mind with liking and liberty. The Court at
Bellaviste was dull--none knew it better then Ernestine--but the
Princess of Dardania dispensed on all but State occasions with the
strict etiquette which Baroness von Hilfenstein imposed on all who
came beneath her sway. In his capital the young King was necessarily
surrounded by attendants and tutors, but the one condition of his
visiting his cousins was that he should bring with him only the
minimum number of servants and no one in authority. Again his mother
remonstrated, but this time the Princess was her opponent, pointing
out the benefit to the boy’s health of the freer life, the advantage
to him of leading the happy outdoor life of her own boys with their
father, and the humanising influences of the constant society of the
Princesses Bettine and Lida. Ernestine was worsted at every point, but
it was the knowledge that her boy’s wishes pointed in the same
direction that induced her to submit.
“Ernestine,” said Cyril to her once, “that boy of yours is being
weaned away from us. He had far rather be with your cousin and her
family than here.”
“Oh, do you think so?” asked the Queen, with a sharp pang at her
heart, for she had been cherishing the belief that the change which
was so sadly evident to herself was invisible to others. “But it is
natural that he should like to be with other young people, and he is
so fond of them all.”
“He is fonder of your cousin than any of them. I hear that he sits
listening to her for hours together as she talks. My dear Ernestine,
is it a matter of indifference to you that another woman is stealing
your son’s heart from you?”
It was a cruel question, but he was anxious to arouse her to a
perception of the greatness of the emergency. She grew whiter as she
answered.
“Should I make things any better by trying to detach him from his
chosen friends? No; at least I am happy while he is happy.”
“He will be obliged to detach himself from them some day. This Paul
and Virginia kind of life can’t go on for ever. Can’t you try to get
hold of him again, Ernestine? He was absolutely devoted to you at one
time--that time when you were so jealous of his being fond of me.”
“Ah, but I am growing old and grey-haired and tired,” she said
wearily, “and I feel differently, too. He does love me still, but I
dare not risk the loss of his love by setting myself against his
friends. I have so little that I am afraid of losing everything.”
“Old? nonsense!” cried Cyril. “My dear child, I am nearly ten years
older than you are, and I feel as young as ever. You are not
thirty-five yet.”
“Thirty-two,” she said seriously, not perceiving that he had purposely
over-estimated her age. “But I feel old. Ottilie has her husband and
children--she keeps young. Surely she need not have stolen my one
child from me? Oh, Cyril,” she threw out her hands towards him with a
passionate gesture, “you are all I have left. Don’t forsake me.”
“Forsake you? Who ever thought of such a thing?” asked Cyril, putting
his arm round her tenderly. It was one of the moments at which
something (it could not have been conscience, for he prided himself on
having none) asked him inconvenient questions as to his share in the
hardship of this twelve years’ waiting as compared with Ernestine’s.
“We have not very long to wait now, dear. In less than three years
Michael will be of age.”
“Yes, but--I have become so much accustomed to this waiting that I
can’t believe in happiness, Cyril. I am afraid--I feel still that even
yet, if I stood in the way of your political success, you would brush
me out of your path--me!”
“I think you don’t believe in me, that is very evident. Never mind; in
three years’ time we will see which was right.”