A COMBAT _À OUTRANCE_.
“Good morning, ladies! Is her Majesty disengaged at present?”
“Her Majesty will see you, Count, I do not doubt,” and Anna Mirkovics
rose to inquire the Queen’s pleasure.
“You are early, Count,” said the other lady, who was Paula von
Hilfenstein no longer, having married the eldest son of Prince
Mirkovics some seven years before. Her sister-in-law, in spite of the
large fortune she inherited from her mother, was still single, but
more, people said, by reason of her whole-hearted devotion to the
Queen than from any lack of suitors.
“Yes, Princess, I am early; but there are many things to settle.”
“So I should imagine, since the Queen has been seeing people all
morning. You are arranging the details of next week’s festivities, I
suppose? I hope you are allotting plenty of room to us ladies? I have
ordered the most exquisite gowns imaginable from Paris, and it would
be heart-rending to have them crushed.”
“Your wishes are law, Princess, and I will give orders, if you like,
that twice as much space shall be allotted to you as to any of the
other ladies, so that your gowns may be properly displayed. That is
the real secret of your anxiety, is it not?”
“Her Majesty will receive you, Count,” said Anna Mirkovics, returning
and interrupting her colleague’s laughing disclaimer, and Cyril passed
on into Ernestine’s presence. She was sitting in a low chair, looking
white and tired, for the Court had only returned from Molzau the day
before, and there were endless details to be arranged for the
celebration the following week of her son’s attainment of his
majority, but the soft flush which never failed to appear at Cyril’s
approach crept slowly up her cheek as he kissed her hand.
“I know you would not have asked for an interview unless there was
something important to tell me,” she said.
“You are right in supposing my errand to be of importance, but I have
nothing to tell--merely a suggestion to make. I want to speak to you
about your boy’s marriage.”
Ernestine sat upright, and looked at him in dismay. “Michael’s
marriage!” she cried. “But he is only a boy. We need not think of that
for five or six years yet--certainly not for four.”
“We need not under ordinary circumstances, I agree with you. But there
are reasons in the present case which render it advisable----”
“It is absurd, Cyril. I won’t hear of it. Michael is far too young. He
doesn’t know his own mind. He----”
“My dear Ernestine, please hear me out. Nothing could be further from
my mind than to suggest an immediate marriage for him, or even a
definite betrothal. But it is highly desirable that it should be
generally understood that his choice--or our choice for him, if you
like--is fixed.”
“Oh, that is not so bad, of course,” said Ernestine, trying to speak
calmly. “But,” her tone thrilled with anxiety, “upon whom does your
choice fall?”
“On the only possible person, Princess Frederike of Hercynia, your
cousin, the Emperor’s daughter.”
“You know that I detest Sigismund, and don’t care for his wife.
Nothing shall induce me to allow Michael to marry one of their girls.”
“The feeling seems to be mutual,” thought Cyril, remembering his
midnight meeting with the Emperors. “You must not allow your little
differences with your cousin to prejudice you against his children,”
he added aloud. “I made it my business when at Molzau to observe and
find out all I could about the Hercynian Princesses, and I am
convinced that they are most excellent and amiable young people, and
very well brought up.”
“Well brought up!” said Ernestine scornfully. “They are dull,
Cyril--fearfully dull. Michael cannot endure them.”
“That speaks badly for his taste. But as you said just now, he is only
a boy, and doesn’t know his own mind. All we have to do is to bring
him in contact with Princess Frederike in due time, and propinquity
will do the rest.”
“I wish you would not talk like that. I tell you it is impossible.
Michael must be allowed to choose for himself.”
“You don’t seem to perceive that by my plan he will choose for
himself--as far as any monarch can. You would not wish him to choose a
shop-girl or a village maiden, I presume? Try to look at it sensibly,
Ernestine. There need be no fuss and no difficulty. Your cousin will
write to congratulate you on your son’s coming of age, of course. In
your answer, you hint that it is your hope that your families may one
day be more nearly connected, and you make the same remark to the
Hercynian Envoy when he presents the Emperor’s letter. It is merely
the expression of a pious wish on your part--doesn’t even bind you if
Michael turns rusty when he gets older, but it tides over this crisis,
and makes a good impression. Why, in the name of all that is
unreasonable, should you hang back?”
“Because--oh, I must tell you--because my cousin Ottilie and I have
arranged for years that he is to marry her daughter Lida. There, you
know the truth now!”
“And how long has this beautiful arrangement been in force?” Nothing
in Cyril’s tone showed that he had suspected its existence for a long
time past.
“Since Michael was three years old. We were at Tatarjé at the
time--it was before you and I became friends--and we determined to
bring them up together as far as possible, that they might really
learn to know one another.”
“And so this is the explanation of all the running wild in woods, and
so on?” said Cyril indulgently. “Upon my word! it’s a very pretty
idea, Ernestine. Pity that it’s so utterly out of the question.”
“Out of the question! Cyril, I have promised Ottilie. It is to be.”
“Oh, indeed, and what becomes of Michael’s youth, and the
impossibility of his knowing his own mind, and so on? It seems to me
that you are trying to pin him down pretty strictly to one young
lady.”
“It is quite in a different way. They have been destined for each
other nearly all their lives.” (“Probably quite all, by Princess
Ottilie,” interjected Cyril, _sotto voce_.) “You cannot say that I
have entered into the arrangement upon impulse. I was sacrificed in
marriage to political considerations, and I determined solemnly that
my son’s life should not be spoilt in the same way. You helped to
sacrifice me, and that is why I cannot accept your advice about
Michael. He shall make his own choice, and fall in love properly with
the girl he is to marry.”
“But how are you going to make him fall in love with Princess Lida? It
is the last idea that would come into his head after their having been
brought up together like brother and sister. More probably he will
fall in love with some maid of honour old enough to be his aunt.”
“Cyril, what a coarse thing to say!” Ernestine spoke with chilling
disapproval, but it was evident that the shaft had gone home, and
Cyril improved his opportunity before she had time to recover herself.
“I know you don’t like it if I venture to say a word against your
cousin, Ernestine, but at the risk of displeasing you I must tell you
this. She is the champion intriguer of Europe, and this projected
marriage is merely the finishing touch to her schemes for bringing the
whole of the Balkan States under the control of members of her family.
She has almost succeeded in plunging the Powers into war already, by
the annexation of Rhodope and the betrothal of her elder daughter to
young Albrecht of Mœsia, and for years she has been trying to
alienate Michael from you and attach him to herself in order to ensure
the success of her plans--a success which would in all probability
lead at once to the Great War.”
Ernestine sat silent, with the tears rolling down her face. Ottilie’s
schemes and their probable result had never been presented to her so
baldly before, although an inkling of their nature had forced itself
into her mind. But even now, taken at a disadvantage as she was, she
refused to yield her point.
“It is very dreadful, Cyril, and perhaps if I had known it all at the
time, I would not have entered into the compact. But Michael and Lida
shall not be sacrificed now. I will not break the children’s hearts.”
“My dear Ernestine, pray remember their youth. As you said, it is
impossible that Michael can have fixed his heart on her as yet.
Unless--surely you have not put the idea into his head?”
“No, indeed. We wanted it all to be quite natural and unprompted. They
were to grow up together, and drift into love gently.”
“Well, then, the current must be diverted into another channel, that
is all. There need be no difficulty about it. When I am gone, send for
your boy, and talk to him about next week. Oh, you know the kind of
talk I mean. What do women say on such occasions? Then when you have
got him into a suitably softened frame of mind, just let out how happy
it would make you if you thought he would one day bring home a bride
from Hercynia----”
“But it would not. It would make me miserable.”
“If it preserved the peace of Europe, and thwarted your cousin’s
ambitious schemes? Besides, Ernestine, this affair has a further
significance for us. If we can spoil the Princess of Dardania’s great
plan, the Emperors will look kindly upon our marriage.”
“You expect me to sell my son as the price of my own happiness?”
“No, I don’t. I know you far too well to expect you to do anything so
businesslike. But what is the good of our rubbing each other the wrong
way like this? Think of me a little, even if the prospect offers no
temptation to you. Won’t you allow that to find all I have worked for
suddenly within my reach is a thing to tempt a man? I don’t ask you to
force your son’s inclination--only to let him know which way your
wishes turn. Is that so very much to do for me? I do not often ask a
favour from you.”
“No; but when you do they are so very hard to grant. Still, I will
moot the matter to Michael, as you wish it so much, Cyril. It cannot
well do any harm. But I must wait until he returns from Praka.”
“You don’t mean to say that he is at Praka now? I thought he came home
with you, and was in the Palace.”
“No; we separated at Witska, and I came on without him. He wanted to
see his cousins again, and besides, he heard that Ottilie had been
slighted in some way with regard to the invitation to Molzau, and
nothing would satisfy him but going to sympathise with her.”
“This is very bad, Ernestine.” Cyril was seriously disturbed. “If your
cousin’s suspicions are aroused as to anything that passed at Molzau,
she is quite capable of ruining our plans. You must telegraph to
Michael immediately, and desire him to return without delay. I would
advise you to send Pavlovics and some of his suite to fetch him--for
he is getting too old to be running about the country with only a
servant or two--but the Princess might get wind of our intentions and
forestall us.”
“But even if Michael is heart-whole, Cyril, and does not object to the
idea of marrying Frederike in the course of time, what about Ottilie?
How can I ever explain the change to her? And there is no explanation.
I am simply breaking my solemn promise.”
“Refer her Royal Highness to me, if you like. We are old
acquaintances, and I may be able to remind her of a promise or two
that she has herself broken. Lay the blame on Europe, tell her that
you object to the honour of being one of the causes of the Great
War--but send for your son at once.”
“I will. The telegram shall go immediately.”
The Queen kept her word, without taking any one into her counsels; yet
only an hour or so later a second telegram left Bellaviste, also for
Praka, but addressed to the Princess of Dardania. The contents were in
cipher, and translated, read thus:--
“Mortimer had long private interview this morning with Queen, who was
afterwards observed to have been weeping. A message of recall was
despatched to King instantly on M.’s departure. Be on your guard.
/D/.”
The Princess of Dardania received this missive early in the afternoon.
When she had read it, she glanced sharply at the telegram addressed to
King Michael, which was lying on her writing-table awaiting his
return. The young people had started out in the morning for a picnic,
chaperoned by an elderly lady-in-waiting and Princess Lida’s French
governess, and the Princess was to meet them with tea at a point
agreed upon on their homeward way. As she realised the situation she
stretched out her hand towards Ernestine’s telegram, but withdrew it
again quickly.
“No, there is no need,” she said to herself. “Drakovics has given me
all the information I require, and Ernestine will not attempt an
explanation in a telegram. But I think, my dear Michael, that on the
whole it will be as well for you not to receive your mother’s message
until you return here.”
It was not, therefore, until the picnic-party had reached the villa
again that the Princess informed King Michael casually that there was
a telegram waiting for him. Before going out she had placed the
envelope in the hall, so that it might appear to have arrived during
her absence, and she passed on into her sitting-room as she spoke. She
was still standing by the table and taking off her gloves when the
door was flung open, and King Michael burst in.
“Tant’ Ottilie, my mother wants me to go home at once. She says there
are so many things to arrange which she can’t settle without me. And I
have only been here one day, and not seen you a bit. It’s
shameful--intolerable!”
“Why, Michael, you ought to feel flattered that your mother can’t do
without you. It seems very hard that you should be obliged to leave so
soon, just when Lida and Bettine had been planning so many delightful
excursions, too; but then----”
“I’m not going. My mother doesn’t really want me. She has Count
Mortimer to help her with all her fads----”
“Oh, hush, my dear boy! I can’t allow you to speak of your mother in
that way, nor can I keep you here when she sends for you. It would
appear that I was encouraging you in disobedience. But it is quite
evident that it is too late to start to-night, so telegraph to say
that you will leave by the nine o’clock train in the morning. And I
have a plan. I will come to Bellaviste with you, for I am not
satisfied about the decorations I have ordered for the villa next
week. I want this house to testify--even though we are away--how much
we love our dear Michael and rejoice in his coming to his own, and
therefore I must go and see how the devices look before they are quite
finished. But don’t tell your mother I am coming. It will be a little
surprise for her.”
“When I am really King, I shall stay here as much as I like,” grumbled
the boy, moving unwillingly to the door; but as he reached it he found
the Princess’s eyes fixed sadly upon him. “Tant’ Ottilie!” he cried,
rushing back to her, “what is the matter? Why do you look so sad?”
“Dear Michael, it is nothing--merely that it grieves me to lose you
again so soon,” but again and again during the evening King Michael
found that fixed, sorrowful gaze upon him. As Cyril had remarked three
years before, he cared as yet far more for the Princess of Dardania
than for her daughter, and her evident sadness made him miserable. Not
until the next morning, however, did an opportunity of asking an
explanation offer itself, but as soon as the Princess and he were
established in the royal saloon for the journey to Bellaviste, and the
attendants dismissed to their separate car, he recurred to the subject
immediately.
“Oh, Tant’ Ottilie, tell me what it is that makes you so unhappy. I
cannot bear you to look sad. Is it anything that I have done?”
“Dear Michael, no. Will you not believe me when I assure you that it
is only sorrow at losing you? It is like losing one of my own
sons--almost as bad as when Kazimir first went to join the Scythian
army.”
“But that was for such a long time, and I shall come back as soon as
ever all the fuss is over. You don’t imagine that I would let anything
keep me away?”
“My dear boy, you will not find yourself your own master then any more
than you are now--in fact, you will have even less time at your
disposal. No, we have been very happy, but we must learn to look upon
that particular kind of happiness as past and gone for us.”
“Tant’ Ottilie, how can you say such things? I shall almost live
here.”
“I am afraid Count Mortimer will have something to say to that.”
“Count Mortimer? What has he to do with it? Surely,” as a thought
occurred to him, “you don’t think that it was through him that my
mother sent for me home?”
“It looks very like it. She made no objection to your coming--did she?
but as soon as she has had time to consult Count Mortimer, she recalls
you.”
“It’s too bad. But after next week he shall see whether I----”
“Oh, no insubordination, Michael, please! But come and look out of
this window. We shall pass the villa in a moment, and you will like to
have a last look at it.”
“It is not my last look. It shall not be. Oh, there are the girls!”
Yes, there they were, standing on the terrace which bounded the
grounds of the villa on this side, Princess Bettine demure and
dignified--she had cultivated dignity largely since her betrothal had
conferred upon her the distinction of being a kind of modern Helen,
whose charms were not unlikely to plunge Europe into war--and Princess
Lida leaning forward and supporting herself by the branch of a tree as
she waved her handkerchief vigorously.
“I am glad they came to see you off,” said the Princess, adding with a
sigh, “you will never meet them quite on the same footing again,
Michael.”
“Oh, why is everything so horribly mysterious and doleful, Tant’
Ottilie? You talk as if things were all going to be different now, and
Lida is just as bad. She ran away when I wanted to say good-bye to
her, and wouldn’t let me kiss her, and was as crotchety as she could
be.”
“Michael, you are not in earnest? Oh, my poor innocent child, am I too
late? No, no, don’t mind what I say, Michael. Forget it--promise me
you will forget it. Promise faithfully to banish it from your mind,
dear boy.”
“Of course I promise, if you wish it, Tant’ Ottilie,” replied the
King, a good deal astonished, but the Princess did not appear to be
satisfied.
“I ought to have thought of this. How could I be so culpably blind?
But she is so young--it seemed quite safe. Poor little Lida! you will
have to learn your lesson early. And Bettine is so thoroughly happy!”
“What _do_ you mean, Tant’ Ottilie?” asked the puzzled boy. “Is any
one unkind to Lida? I daresay she will feel lonely just at first when
Bettine is married, but I shall come very often, and----”
“My dear Michael, you don’t understand anything about it. You are far
too young--but Lida is younger, and she---- Oh, it is hard for her to
be sacrificed at her age! But I blame myself. Your mother was wiser.
She saw that mischief might happen, when I only thought of you all as
children together. But I am punished. If only Lida had not to suffer
for my blindness!”
“But she shall not suffer!” cried King Michael. “What is the matter
with her? You are not going to send her to Scythia, like Kazimir?”
“Into the army, I suppose? No, Michael; your path and Lida’s will lie
very far apart in future. The thought of her suffering need not
trouble you; you will know little about her, and care less. You will
marry one of the Hercynian Princesses, and live an exemplary domestic
life----”
“What! one of those girls with the light-blue eyes and the hair like
tow? No, thank you, Tant’ Ottilie. I had as soon marry a doll.”
“My dear boy, you will marry the wife who is chosen for you, without
reference to your tastes, and she will not approve of your running
down to Praka every now and then. So we shall be left without you, and
I shall lose Bettine, and then I suppose Lida will go, for she too
must learn, poor child, that with kings and princesses marriage is an
affair not of love but of state, no matter what illusions one may have
cherished in one’s youth----”
“Look here, Tant’ Ottilie. I have an idea. Why shouldn’t I marry
Lida?--when we’re grown up, I mean, of course. It would be better than
Frederike or Hermine, at any rate, and we need not do it for a good
long time.”
The manner of the proposal was not flattering, but the boy’s face was
suffused with an honest blush, and the Princess could have kissed him
there and then. Yet her response was not encouraging.
“My dear boy, you must not think of such a thing! Count Mortimer--I
mean, of course, your mother--would never allow it. And pray don’t
breathe such an idea to any one. It would be said that I had taken
advantage of your stay with us to entrap you into marrying my
daughter.”
“But I could swear you didn’t. You never even suggested the idea, much
less mentioned the word. So if you were thinking of making Lida marry
some prince who would be unkind to her, and that is what was making
you miserable, you can feel that it’s all right now. I suppose that I
shall have to marry some one, and I’ll marry her some day.”
“Your views are charmingly naïve, dear boy. It doesn’t seem to have
occurred to you that Count Mortimer is the person who will choose your
wife for you. I daresay he has everything arranged already.”
“Then he will have arranged it in vain. I hate the fellow,--he twists
my mother round his little finger, but he shan’t get hold of me. I
know too much for him, thanks to hearing you talk, Tant’ Ottilie, and
if he expects to have me under his thumb, as he has my mother--why,
he’s mistaken, that’s all.”
“Ah, but you don’t realise, Michael, that Count Mortimer is a very
important person. Thracia would fall to pieces if he were not at the
helm, and you must be prepared to make any sacrifices to keep him in
office.”
“But look what a pull that gives him over us! No, Tant’ Ottilie, it
will be the other way about after next week. Count Mortimer will have
to make the sacrifices if he means to hold office under me.”
“Why, Michael, you are quite a youthful Cromwell! But I must warn you
that Count Mortimer will make no concessions.”
“Don’t you see that’s exactly what I want? He will have to go then.
Why, it makes me want to marry Lida just because I know it will mean
getting rid of him. How I hate that smooth, cynical manner of his, as
if he were worlds above me! He has done nothing but try to thwart and
restrain me all my life, and my mother would have let him have his
way. It was you who opened my eyes and helped me to get the better of
him.”
“No, my dear boy, I am sure you are mistaken in thinking that I ever
spoke against the Premier in your hearing, or encouraged you to oppose
him. You may possibly have heard me lament the extraordinary and
pernicious influence he exercises over your dear mother, or remark
upon the unconstitutional way in which he uses the power he won by
such peculiar means. But you drew your own conclusions, and I have
merely done my best to protect you against the worst results of his
system of training.”
“Very well, Tant’ Ottilie. It comes to much the same thing, after all,
and that is, that he goes at the first opportunity.”
“I fancy that you will have to reckon with your mother there,
Michael.”
“My mother? But when he is gone he will have no more influence over
her, and she will not oppose my marrying to please myself.”
“But will she let him go? I am certainly not the person to speak
against love-matches, Michael, for my own marriage was a shining
example, and I fancy your mother would agree with me in any case but
yours, especially----”
“But what in the world have my mother’s views on love-matches to do
with Count Mortimer?” asked the boy, bewildered by what seemed to him
the sudden change of subject. “Do you call Lida’s and mine a
love-match?”
“Of course.” The Princess was not disturbed by her prospective
son-in-law’s undisguised amusement at the idea. “What else could it
be? But if you don’t see the connection which led me to say what I
did, you must not expect me to enlighten you. I am the very last
person to do so.”
“What do you mean, Tant’ Ottilie? What are you hinting at? I will
know. Don’t sit there and look mysterious, but tell me.”
The Princess opened her firmly closed lips. “My dear Michael, if you
are so happy as not to have noticed what every one in the Court knows
and every one in the country has heard, it is certainly not for me to
destroy your paradise.”
“It would make me unhappy, then? Something about my mother? Tant’
Ottilie, you cannot say that--that she has done anything wrong?”
“Far from it, my dear boy. At the worst it can only be called an
amiable indiscretion. Oh no, there is nothing wrong--but I fear you
will scarcely be charitable enough to say so when you are invited to
receive Count Mortimer as----”
“As what? I insist on knowing.”
“My dear boy, you quite frighten me. As a stepfather, then, if you
must be told.”
“My mother intends to put that upstart in my father’s place?”
“That she can scarcely do, but she intends to marry him.”
“She shall not do it. I will have him killed first.”
“Calm yourself, Michael.” The Princess was a little alarmed by the
storm she had raised, and she drew the boy down upon the seat beside
her, and laid her soft hand on his clenched fist. “You must make
allowances for your mother,” she went on. “When she was left a widow,
Count Mortimer occupied a high position in the Court. He made himself
useful to her, and worked his way into her confidence. When those
Tatarjé difficulties arose, he was able to make it appear that he had
rendered her very important services. Your mother was young and
impressionable, and very lonely. If she had had a father or brother at
hand to advise her--if even I had known what was going on, she would
have been held back from the rash step she took. But it so happened
that she had no relations near her at the time, and she engaged
herself privately to him.”
“And married him?”
“No; I think it is safe to say that they are not married.”
“Then it is not too late. I am here to save her. She must be protected
against herself. The fellow shall go in no time.”
“My dear Michael, you must be careful. Count Mortimer has not been
Premier for eleven years without knowing how to entrench himself in
his position. He is hand and glove with the Three Powers, and to
dismiss him precipitately might lead to very disastrous consequences,
besides blazoning abroad the whole matter, which is the last thing one
would wish to do. Decidedly you must not give such a reason for
dismissing him--and yet it would not do to dismiss him without a
reason.”
“I have my reasons--I hate him, and he would oppose my marriage with
Lida, and he has the presumption to wish to marry my mother--but I
need not give them.”
“You must give some reason, my dear boy. But if possible let it spring
out of some misconduct on Count Mortimer’s own part. If only he were
Finance Minister, one might produce evidence of peculation; but as
Minister of Foreign Affairs, all we can do is to suggest that he has
entered into secret understandings with other States. If the Three
Powers once come to believe that he has had dealings with Scythia,
they will be only too anxious to throw him over; and even if we could
not furnish any direct evidence after all, a suspicion of that kind
never quite dies away.”
“I see; you mean to disgrace him as well as get rid of him? That will
suit me all right. I believe you hate him as much as I do. But you
will help me, Tant’ Ottilie? I don’t quite see how I could carry the
thing through alone.”
“Help you, dear boy? of course. But tell me first; you are sure that
you really love Lida?”
“Of course I do. You said so yourself. Should I want to marry her if I
didn’t?” was the unanswerable rejoinder, and the Princess forbore to
press the question further.
“Leave everything to me just at present, Michael, and do not appear to
have discovered your mother’s secret. I shall try to persuade her to
consent to your marriage first. After that, we must take other
measures.”
Having attained her various objects in starting the conversation, she
said no more, leaving the boy to brood over his discoveries. She had
succeeded beyond her utmost expectations in rousing him to the two
emotions of love and hate, and now her only fear was lest a chance
interview with his mother or with Cyril should lead to an explosion
before she had had time to prepare her ground. It was evident that the
campaign must be opened quickly on her side if she was not to find her
movements anticipated. Her plans were soon laid, and when she met
Ernestine, without appearing to notice the start of dismay with which
her unexpected arrival was greeted, she whispered as she advanced to
kiss her--
“I must have a nice long talk with you to-night, darling Nestchen. I
have such sweet, delightful news to give you.”
Princess Ottilie as a sentimentalist was appearing in a new character,
and Ernestine felt a thrill of alarm when she heard her words; but
with the conviction that it would be of no avail to defer the evil
day, she granted the private interview which her cousin had asked for.
“I do not know when I have felt so happy!” said the Princess, when she
had sent her maid away, and she and Ernestine were facing one another
in the rose-tinted light of her dressing-room. “Even when dear
Albrecht came to tell me that he loved Bettine, I could not feel such
complete satisfaction as I do to-day, for you and I have always been
such close friends, and it is so thoroughly suitable that our children
should---- But how I am running on! Well, Nestchen, our children
understand one another. Dearest Michael confessed his love to me
to-day--quite without any prompting on my part--and as for my Lida, I
have known her innocent little secret for a long time. Is it not
delightful that all should have fallen out exactly as we planned?”
Ernestine was sitting very straight in her chair, and her face looked
drawn and ghastly in the soft light. “But, Ottilie----” she said, with
a sort of gasp.
“What, Ernestine?” cried the Princess. “You don’t mean me to
understand that you have changed your mind? You have never even hinted
at such a thing.”
“I have not changed my mind,” said Ernestine, speaking with
difficulty, “but I wish this had happened two days ago or not at all.”
“I must insist on knowing what you mean, Ernestine. My daughter’s
happiness is at stake--which seems to be more to me than your son’s
happiness is to you.”
“My son’s happiness is of the very highest importance to me, Ottilie.
Your news comes as a shock, because only yesterday morning I was told,
by one in whom I have every confidence, that it was impossible, for
political reasons, for the marriage to which we have both been looking
forward to take place.”
“And you imagine that I shall be content to sacrifice my child to the
opinion of some anonymous busybody? But no--I know only too well who
your sapient adviser is. It is Count Mortimer.”
“You are right. It was Count Mortimer.”
“Of course it was. I knew that only to your lover would you dream of
sacrificing your child.”
“Are you mad, Ottilie? How dare you say such a thing to me?”
“Because it is true. Deny that he is your lover, if you can--a fact
that everybody knows.”
“I have no wish to deny it. I do love Count Mortimer, and I am proud
to say that he loves me.”
“And to please him you will sacrifice your son? Are you proud to say
that?”
“There is no question of sacrificing him. What you have told me has
put a new complexion on affairs, and it will be necessary to modify
any other plans we may have had in view. You are the last person to
suggest that I am likely to sacrifice Michael’s happiness, Ottilie.
For years I have sacrificed myself in allowing him to spend every
spare hour of his time with you, because it seemed to make him happier
than keeping him at home.”
“Or because it allowed you to enjoy more of the society of your
lover?”
“I do not wish to quarrel with you, Ottilie, but your tone is
exceedingly strange.”
“Yes, it is strange, is it not, when my Lida’s happiness is wavering
in the balance? I don’t know whether you expect me to acquiesce
meekly, Ernestine, when in one moment you spring on me your
determination to upset the arrangement which was entered into at your
own suggestion, and towards which we have been working ever since.
Unfortunately I care more for the broken hearts of those poor children
than for the success of Count Mortimer’s projects of
self-advertisement.”
“I should be glad if you would remember that you are speaking--as you
have mentioned once or twice--of the man I love. As I said just now, I
shall tell Count Mortimer what you have told me, and inform him that
the original scheme must be carried out.”
“And when he pooh-poohs the whole affair--declares that the children
are babies, and that the peace of Europe (oh, I know his ways) is not
to be imperilled for the sake of giving them what they cry for--what
then? Do you think I don’t know that he will talk you over in five
minutes, and that you will agree with everything he proposes, wiping
away a tear to the memory of the love-story you have ended so
cruelly?”
“I must beg of you to leave the matter with me, Ottilie,” said the
Queen, rising and going towards the door. “I have confidence in Count
Mortimer, if you have not, and I feel sure that he will find a way of
settling things happily.”
“Wait, Ernestine!” cried the Princess, crossing the room and putting
her hand on the door. “Things would be settled happily for you and
him, no doubt, but what about Lida and me? No settlement devised by
Count Mortimer would ever prove favourable to my daughter. He will
laugh at your scruples, and bring you round to his own way of
thinking--or if you should venture to hold out, he would proceed with
his plans without reference to you. And do you think that I am going
to allow you to sue humbly to such a man in my name, entreating that
my daughter shall be permitted to marry your son? No; put things on
the right footing at once. It is not Count Mortimer who is master of
the situation--it is myself. I hold the winning card, and that is
Michael. There is less than a week now before he comes of age, and if
Count Mortimer succeeds in obtaining for him in that time the promise
of the hand of Frederike of Hercynia, he will repudiate the
arrangement as soon as he is his own master. Then your friend must
resign, disgraced before all Europe. If he is unwilling to face the
prospect, he must give the lie to the whole of his past policy, and
accept Lida as his future Queen. That is the choice you have to offer
him--a surrender to Michael, and to me, or political ruin.”
“Ottilie,” said the Queen, looking at her in agony, “be merciful. I
cannot take him such a message. I love him.”
“Then leave him to discover the alternatives for himself. It will only
make his ruin all the surer. He can find no third course. For any
other man I would have built a golden bridge--enabled him to make his
escape with some remnants of dignity--but for him I have no pity.”
“But what has he done to you, Ottilie? His plan to marry you to his
brother failed.”
“Yes; but how did he accept his failure? He insulted me in a way that
I shall never forgive. It was the evening of our wedding--the ceremony
was just over--and this wretch Mortimer approached Alexis and myself
under pretence of offering his congratulations. Every word was an
insult, though veiled under the form of politeness. He ventured--he
even ventured--to warn Alexis that I should probably prove unfaithful
to him. ‘She has deceived her father, and may thee,’ were his words.
Alexis did not perceive the drift of the remark, but if I had had a
dagger at hand----! I smiled then, but afterwards I vowed that he
should pay dearly for the outrage; and now the time for payment has
come.”
“But why through me? It is too cruel. Why do not you tell him? But no;
at least I can save him from that bitter tongue of yours by telling
him myself.”
“Yes, and see how he will regard you afterwards. I wish he loved you,
Ernestine--as you love him, poor silly child!--that he might suffer
more, but you are nothing but an item in his plans. He has made use of
you to work his way to power, he is using you now to recommend himself
to the Emperors, and when you prove unable to help him to mount any
higher, he will kick you aside. You are of no use to him unless you
represent success.”
“Please let me pass, Ottilie,” said the Queen coldly, her calmness
restored. “Your calumnies against Count Mortimer are worthy of
yourself; I will say no more. As I had decided, I shall see Michael
first and question him, and then communicate the situation to Count
Mortimer, and ascertain his views.”
It was not until noon of the next day that Ernestine succeeded in
obtaining an interview with her son, and in this her cousin
anticipated her. King Michael entered his mother’s room armed at all
points, and the sight of his sullen, determined face gave Ernestine a
strange pang, bringing back, as it did, the first year of her unhappy
married life. One day, as she was quitting the room in outraged
dignity after a violent quarrel with her husband, she had chanced to
catch a glimpse of herself in the great mirror she was passing, and
the look which had met her then was repeated now in the face so like
her own. After all, for much that was amiss in Michael’s character the
blame was hers, and the thought gave a sudden softness to her voice as
she stretched out her hand to the boy.
“Come and sit here beside me, little son.” The endearing diminutive
came naturally to her lips, although King Michael was as tall as
herself. “I have scarcely had a word with you yet. What is this that I
hear about Lida?”
“I love Lida, and I am going to marry her,” was the answer, as King
Michael declined the proffered seat, and stood leaning against the
mantelpiece, glowering at his mother with wrathful eyes.
“You are sure that you really love her, Michael?”
“Of course I am. I can’t tell why you should think I don’t know my own
mind. If I didn’t love her, why should I want to marry her?”
The plea did not sound as irresistible to Ernestine as it had done to
her cousin, but she betrayed no impatience. “I don’t want to appear to
cast a doubt on the sincerity of your love, dear boy,” she said,
without showing any resentment at his tone, “but you know that it is
not with kings as with ordinary men--there are so many things to think
of. If you marry Lida, it will mean that some important changes have
to be made, and perhaps some sacrifices. I don’t grudge making
sacrifices for my boy--I think you know that, Michael?”
A dogged silence was the only answer, and she went on, “I have given
you up so much of late years, Michael, that perhaps you scarcely
realise how much it has cost me to do it. It never struck you, did it,
when you were at Praka or Bashi Konak with your cousins, how lonely I
was here? But you were so happy with them that I had not the heart to
keep you in this dull place with no one to play with. No, dear, I
don’t shrink from any sacrifice for your sake, but I want to be sure
that it will not be wasted.”
“I shall never marry any one but Lida,” responded the boy gruffly.
“Everything that I like is connected with her--Tant’ Ottilie, and
going to Praka, and getting away from ceremony and fuss. I can’t give
her up.”
“I am not asking you to give her up, dear boy. If you are sure you
love her, I will speak to Count Mortimer, and ask him to make the
proper arrangements, though I shall be left more lonely than ever.”
“I am sorry,” said King Michael awkwardly, kissing his mother on the
forehead, “but I love her too much to give her up. And, little
mother”--the words came with a rush--“you have been so kind about it,
I’ll not say anything against your--your settling things with that
fellow Mortimer.”
And the King departed in haste, as though fearing that he had
compromised himself by his impulsive generosity, and left his mother
to face the worst ordeal of all--her interview with Cyril. He arrived
not long after King Michael had left the room, and found Ernestine
sitting idle, with her hands locked together. She looked at him almost
fearfully as he approached her.
“Cyril,” she said in a half-whisper, “I have something to tell you
that you will be sorry to hear. Michael and Lida of Dardania are in
love with one another.”
“Then it is the Princess’s doing, and nothing else, for any one could
see that they had no thought of anything of the kind before.”
“I don’t know how it happened, but it is too late to stop it now.”
“Too late, my dear Ernestine! A boy of sixteen and a girl of fifteen!
I will undertake to put a stop to it in no time.”
“But, Cyril, you must not. I cannot allow that.”
“Not allow it? Surely you have forgotten that I explained to you the
other day that such a marriage was out of the question?”
“So we thought at the time, but this alters everything. We must think
of some way in which things can be arranged satisfactorily.”
“But it is impossible. No arrangement could be satisfactory which
would give the Princess of Dardania a pretext for interfering in our
affairs. Besides, the whole balance of power would be upset.”
“You will be able to devise some scheme which will put things right.
You are so skilful; I am depending on you.”
“My scheme is simply to pack Michael off to Vienna as soon as all the
fuss next week is over. He has never seen any girls but his cousins,
and you will find very soon that there is safety in numbers. I would
take him to Paris myself, if it was safe to leave the kingdom for so
long. That would cure him very quickly of his calf-love, but Vienna is
the next best place.”
“But you don’t seem to understand, Cyril, and yet I told you only two
days ago that it was a matter of conscience with me not to thwart
Michael in an affair of this kind. I suppose I can’t make you see it
quite as I do, but it always seems to me”--her voice faltered--“as if
in this way I could make a sort of atonement for the way in which I
treated his father. I daresay it sounds very foolish and illogical to
you,” as Cyril’s lip curled, “but if I could feel that Michael’s
married life, at any rate, was likely to be a happy one, it would not
seem as if our unhappy marriage was to go on causing unhappiness to
generation after generation.”
“Let me beg of you to look at things from a common-sense point of
view, Ernestine. Your husband would have been the last to wish the
good of Thracia to be sacrificed for a foolish fancy about making
atonement to him.”
“I knew you would not see what I meant. But still, Cyril, even if
change and distraction helped Michael to get over his trouble, as you
suggest, I should never forgive myself for allowing poor little Lida
to be cast aside. No; I have often heard you say that when a
misfortune is irremediable, the only sensible thing to do is to accept
the situation and start afresh from it.”
“But when the situation is absolutely impossible, what then?”
“But it can’t be, if you accept it. I thought you might perhaps
arrange a compact with Ottilie, that the wedding should not take place
for five years, until Michael is twenty-one, and that during that time
she should not make any attempt to interfere in Thracian affairs, or
to prejudice Michael against you. What do you think?”
“Truly excellent, if the wit of man can devise any possible means of
making the Princess of Dardania keep a promise which it suits her to
break. And what about breaking faith with the Emperors, and reversing
the policy which I have laboured for twelve years to establish? Have
women no idea of political morality, of duty to the country? Can you
in cold blood imagine that I am likely to hand over Thracia, bound, to
Scythia, after all I have done to strengthen her independence and give
her a voice among the Powers?”
“But she says you have no choice,” faltered Ernestine.
“Who says?--the Princess of Dardania? That was the secret of your
anxiety for me in your suggested compromise, was it? What is the
dilemma into which she hopes to force me?”
“She said that you must either reverse your policy and allow Michael
to marry Lida, or oppose him for a week and then be dismissed--that
there was no alternative. She says Michael will do what she tells
him.”
“No doubt. But she is a little out in her calculations. There is
another alternative, and it is in your hands. It lies with you to save
the situation, Ernestine. Refuse your consent to the marriage. Break
with the Princess openly, and take measures to remove Michael from her
influence. Your family and the Schwarzwald-Molzaus will back you up,
and the Emperors will see fair play.”
“But I have told you I cannot do it, Cyril. I cannot break the
children’s hearts.”
“No one wishes you to break their hearts. All that you have to do is
gently to guide their vagrant fancies into the right direction. In so
doing you will checkmate the Princess and rescue Michael from her
clutches. He will see the world a little, and come back to you free
from the trammels of his adoration for her; and she, like a wise
woman, will have found another match for Princess Lida. Come, I’ll
undertake to pull the matter through. You understand? You must do it.”
“Cyril, I can’t. The thought of the children’s misery would haunt me
ever after.”
“Nonsense! Michael will be the first to thank you when he is settled
down with a quiet, good-tempered girl as a wife, instead of the pretty
little intriguer whom your cousin has so carefully trained up to
follow in her own footsteps. As for the girl, there is no heart on her
side of the question. She is simply doing as her mother tells her.
This is not a matter of choice, Ernestine. You must do as I advise
you, and there is no time for thinking about it.”
“Oh, Cyril, wait!” She came close to him, and laid her hands on his
arm. “I cannot do it; I am pledged both to Michael and Ottilie. I
would save you if I could, but not in this way--anything but this.
Explain to the Emperors how the matter stands, and resign at once.
Then I will marry you next week, and we will leave Thracia--leave
Michael to be happy. If you will give up office for me, I will give
him up for you--if I can do it knowing that all is well with him. We
love each other; we will live somewhere quietly, and forget politics.
Am I not enough for you?”
“Good heavens, Ernestine, you would drive a man mad! Well, if you must
have an answer, you are not enough, if Thracia has to be left to the
Princess and to Scythia, and all my work undone.”
“Cyril, I have obeyed you, yielded to you, given up so much for you
already. Give up this for me.”
“It is impossible, Ernestine. You must choose between your boy and
me.”