THE NEW MEMBER.
When Malakopf went home that night, he came near to being a victim of
exultation. That delightful emotion he always eschewed, for he
considered it a dangerous feeling, one that blunts the perception,
deadens acumen, and has no practical significance. Indeed, the greatest
extravagance in this way that he usually allowed himself on the
conclusion of some very successful bargain was a pleased contempt at the
contemplation of wits inferior to his own, and a disdainful
indifference, amounting sometimes to dislike, to those who had been his
tools or his unfortunate adversaries. But to-night he was strangely
moved; perhaps he was even a little dazzled at the greatness of the
stake for which he was playing, perhaps he was only much pleased and
surprised at the aptness of the tool which Providence--he made no doubt
it was Providence, which always looks after those who look after
themselves--had so kindly put in his hand. Like the Prince himself, he
too was writing a private little drama of much the same nature, the
chief difference being that while the Prince’s play was entitled ‘The
Emperor of the East,’ Malakopf’s was more modestly called ‘The President
of the Republic.’ Another variation between the two is perhaps worth
recording: in the Prince’s production there was a minor character, a
sort of gentleman-in-waiting, called Malakopf (Count Malakopf, perhaps),
whereas in his ‘President of the Republic’ no mention was made of any
Petros, Prince or otherwise.
But as a tool Petros seemed admirable; he was sharp, and could be thrown
away when done with. His relation to the Princess would put him, in the
minds of all loyal people--and Malakopf valued loyalty in others--beyond
the reach of suspicion. For what could be more suitable, or more
gratifying to the folk of Rhodopé, than to see the husband of their
beloved Princess, that accomplished rider, that finished squire of
dames, so identifying himself with the affairs of the kingdom?
Furthermore, there was a vast deal of underground work which would
probably have to be done, and if there was one thing more than another
in which the busy brain of Malakopf delighted, it was to make himself a
mole, a delver in the dark, and spring his castles on the foolish
grazing cattle where they were least suspected. The Château Vryssi
(1832) was sweet, though dryer, than the vintage of his thoughts.
Prince Petros was, in a way, wise to trust the plan and execution of his
conspiracy--for so we may already call it--to Malakopf. He himself, at
any rate, had neither the courage, the caution, nor the constructive
ability which could warrant any decent chance of success. He was
cunning, no more, and cunning is but a pin-point to go a-fighting with.
On the other hand, he was irredeemably foolish to trust Malakopf further
than he could see him, and he could not see far. Thus, he was like to
fall between two stools, an inexcusable and an undignified position,
which ends on the floor.
As for Malakopf, that astute politician had as usual several strings to
his bow. His scheme, as he had planned it, could scarcely fail
altogether of success. The target at which he aimed was a long and
hazardous shot, being, indeed, no less than the overthrow of the
dynasty, the establishment of a republic in Rhodopé, and the
establishment of himself as President of the same. He had, as he had
told Prince Petros, a considerable influence in the State. For some
years past, under different names, he had invested immense sums in
Government stock, and if at any moment he chose to throw his shares on
the market, he could not only discredit the National Bank in the eyes of
Europe, but he would also seriously cripple the State itself. Again,
under an alias, he had driven a flourishing money-lending trade in
Amandos, and many of the Members of the Assembly were seriously in his
debt. Thirdly, his vast estates in the country gave employment to a
large body of the electorate, and he could, so he supposed, command when
necessary a great number of votes.
But it was characteristic of the man that he was preparing at first to
use a slower and more devilish method of magnifying himself to the
detriment of the reigning family. He had on the tip of his poisonous
tongue all the clap-trap of socialism, and he had, what is almost as
important, a real acquaintance with the spirit of their demands. The
scheme proposed by the absurd catchword of ‘three acres and a cow’
contained its residuum of truth, and if so enticing a phrase was not
sufficient, he could justify it to willing ears. Princess Sophia was, as
he knew, an unrivalled Aunt Sally for such random weapons; her
extravagance, her Parisian toilettes, her magnificent jewels, her nights
spent in ruinous card-playing, were all texts ready for the ranter. He
did not intend to do the ranting himself, that should be for those whom
he controlled; he, the Prime Minister, with quivering lip, but firm of
purpose, would sit in his exalted place on the Assembly and find himself
unable to answer such damnation of criticism. The Budget was the
instrument on which he greatly relied. A little judicious arrangement,
the money spent in outdoor relief prominently contrasted with the civil
list of the Princess, could not fail to tell.
These were the methods by which he had long planned to make an attack on
the reigning house, and they still seemed to him trustworthy. But he
realized that this new ally, in the shape of the Prince, might open to
him other and directer roads. In any case, it was a sound policy to put
this man of straw in the place which the Princess Sophia, who was
undeniably flesh and blood, occupied in the Assembly. If once he could
be completely installed there, it was comparatively easy to turn him
out, leaving, so he hoped, a vacancy in the President’s chair. But such
a delectable conclusion, he realized, must be largely a matter of luck.
He was merely prepared to take a chance, if it came in his way.
But the man, with all his burning audacity, was yet cautious.
Personally, supposing no great stroke of luck occurred and he had to
follow his slower methods, he gave the dynasty four years; by that time
his unholy leaven would have worked. He would instruct the ignorant in
the ways of Court life, he would water their growing knowledge with
disgust, he would evolve a strongly socialistic class of ignorant
content. Then, and not till then, would he clench the matter by the
withdrawal of his stock, threatening letters to his debtors, and plain
speaking to the electorate which he commanded.
Prince Petros’s scheme was far different, and infinitely less sagacious.
He would get his permanent in the Assembly; he would, during one of
Sophia’s absences, get himself trusted by the anti-dynastic party which
it should be Malakopf’s business to form. He would be a model of
sedulous industry in his attendances at the House, reaping a harvest of
golden opinions from the legislators, and at the end down would come in
full spate from the mountains of moral indignation his torrent of
broken-hearted eloquence. The revenues of the State had been squandered
for years past--he admitted and deplored it; their Sovereign was at
Monte Carlo--the time was come when these things could not be borne in
silence--wasting her moneys there. Her child--his child--had been
initiated by her into the mysteries of a game which he was told was
called baccarat. He was here to tell them that he resigned his seat in
the Assembly, for he was in a false position. He did not represent one
whom he was nominally there to represent; he represented plain living
and high thinking, his position was therefore false, and to be in a
false position was more than he could bear. Overcome by his emotion,
torn by conflicting affection, he would sit down; a murmur, carefully
prepared by his poor friend the Prime Minister, would swell up round
him. Then, recovering himself with an effort, he would get up to leave
the House; the House would rise to their feet; a voice would say, ‘Stay,
do not go’; the chorus would be taken up; and next day he would write a
polite letter to Sophia, saying that he had been elected Prince of
Rhodopé by the Assembly, while she had become the Princess Sophia, wife
of the Prince of Rhodopé.
Such was the roughly-sketched outline of their schemes as conceived by
the two conspirators. The working of the plot, as has been mentioned,
was entrusted to Malakopf, the Prince’s part being confined to an
industrious attendance on public business until their sowing had
ripened. Up to this point, at any rate, the plans of each pulled with
the other; at that point they parted. Malakopf had no intention of
letting the Prince make his pathetic speech in the House, or of himself
organizing any sympathetic murmurs, and the Prince had no intention of
any official but himself supreme in Rhodopé. The throne was to be for
him and his children after him. He was unwise enough to give Malakopf a
sketch of what he had designed the progress of affairs to be, and the
other had smilingly acquiesced, saying it was singular how completely
identical the Prince’s forecast was with his own. And Petros turned
aside, and thought to himself, ‘Poor dear old Malakopf!’
The business of securing the Prince a permanent seat in the Assembly was
carried through the next week, but not without some little opposition.
The suggestion of the Princess that her husband should take her place in
her absence had been received with unanimous cordiality as coming from
her, but this further step was not understood to have been initiated
where the first had been, and there were those who opposed. But this
opposition fully suited Malakopf’s hand; he did not wish Prince Petros
to think that the matter was easily accomplished. The more he felt
himself indebted to the Prime Minister, the better; he would be thus
less likely to take incautious steps on his own initiative, for Malakopf
was fully alive to the danger of Petros making a false move, and thus
involving the plans of both in ruin.
But the thing was carried through, and Prince Petros, who had gracefully
absented himself from the sitting in which it was to come under
discussion, was informed of the success of the motion in a letter from
the Prime Minister, who was again to dine with him that evening.
Malakopf suggested that he should at once tell Sophia what had happened,
since it was always wise to be frank about matters which it was
impossible to conceal, and that he should take his seat next day or as
soon as he received a favourable reply from her.
The Prince at once telegraphed in private cipher to his wife, and was
pleased to get the following answer before Malakopf arrived that
evening:
‘Am charmed to hear it. You can take a great deal off my hands, and
I am sure you will do the work well. Shall stay at Monte Carlo till
further notice, since there is no longer any need of me at Rhodopé.
Have lost heaps of money.--SOPHIA.’
This was entirely satisfactory, and Malakopf, to whom he read the
telegram, thought so too. The clause ‘Since there is no longer any need
of me at Rhodopé’ seemed to both a word of good omen. The last sentence
also quite delighted the Prime Minister.
‘From what you know of the Princess,’ he said, ‘do you imagine that her
losses will tend to make her come away the sooner?’
‘It will be a reason the more, if reason was wanted,’ said Petros, ‘for
making her remain. Oh, I know her as I know my gloves.’
‘So I hoped. And if she loses more--if she loses all the money she has
in hand, would she borrow?’
‘Of whom?’
Malakopf paused. He was not sure that he was not talking with a risk.
But he decided to chance it, as he had the highest opinion of the idiocy
of his fellow-conspirator.
‘Of me, for choice,’ he said at length.
Prince Petros flushed; he did not quite like this.
‘Her Royal Highness would probably apply to her husband,’ he said
stiffly, ‘if she was in want of money.’
‘And would you lend it her?’
‘Certainly not. I should request her to come home.’
‘Then you would be acting unwisely,’ said Malakopf, knowing he had done
right to open this point. ‘Do you not see that the more hopelessly she
beggars herself, and the more deeply she gets into debt to someone, you
or another, by so much the more are our plans advanced? If we are to
overthrow the dynasty--dethrone the Princess Sophia, I mean--she must
meet us half-way; she must run to meet her ruin.’
‘I am sure she would not apply to you for money,’ said Petros--‘not
directly, at least.’
‘Indirectly, perhaps,’ suggested Malakopf.
‘You mean through me?’
‘This is what I mean,’ said the Prime Minister, bridling his irritation
at the comparative slowness of the man: ‘How would it be if, when she
applied to you for money, you borrowed it of me? Does not the idea
strike you as sound? You would in the Assembly acknowledge your
indebtedness to me, but, as you so finely sketched, in pathetic degrees
it would be drawn from you how the debt was incurred, to shield whom
from European exposure. For, indeed, not even the loyalty of Rhodopé
would stand their Princess being notorious for not paying her gambling
debts. My suggestion seems to me a double-edged weapon. It would cut
against the Princess; it would move pity and compassion for you.’
‘I think you are right,’ said the Prince reluctantly.
‘And I know I am right,’ thought Malakopf, who saw in this little scheme
a hold not so much over Sophia--she would be easily managed--but over
Prince Petros.
The Prince was formally installed in the Assembly next day. As Regent he
occupied Sophia’s place, but his permanent seat when taking part in the
debates was with the other Ministers in the body of the House. He was
well received, even, he thought, enthusiastically--for applause sounds
loud in the ears of its recipient--and he made a speech which he thought
excellently telling, as it would sound loyal to the loyal, and to any
who might not be blind to his wife’s edifying absences from the
Assembly a hint that even her husband deplored her conduct.
‘It has been my lot during the last fortnight,’ he said, ‘to have
received two very great honours at the hand of this august Assembly.
Last week only I was admitted to the House to act as Regent for Her
Royal Highness my beloved wife. That moment was very sweet to me, for it
showed me in how loyal an esteem you held her, in adopting her
suggestion that I should during her absence do my very humble best to
fill her place. I am unable to tell you how unworthy I felt myself, how
incapable of following her steps, of acquainting myself with the
infinite details of procedure which she knows so well, but I do not
think that any man can ever have made a stronger determination to do all
that in him lies than I. To-day the honour you have done me is more
personal. My lords and gentlemen, I thank you from the bottom of my
heart for it. I am comparatively a stranger among you, but you have
treated me as a friend. You have made me one of yourselves, and I too,
with you, have my part in the glorious responsibility of furthering the
interests of this realm of Rhodopé. The Princess Sophia has telegraphed
to me her warm approval of this step. She will thus be able, she said,
to take a few more weeks of that holiday she so much needs. Gentlemen, I
thank you--I thank you; I can say no more.’ And the Prince’s voice
choked with emotion, and he sat down.
For the next week he was a pattern of sedulous attention to public
affairs. He spoke on the Criminal Law Amendment Act with marked ability,
and the _Rhodopé Courier_ referred to his speech as a _locus classicus_
on the psychology of crime. His short contribution to the debate on the
Hares and Woodcock Bill was masterly. In this he espoused the cause of
the landlord against the tenant. What was not put into the ground by the
tenant clearly belonged to the landlord, and to repeal any portions of
the Game Laws of 1852, as had been suggested, was surely a short-sighted
policy. To abolish the close time, to abolish the necessity for licenses
to kill game, was to exterminate it. What had been the result of the
repeal in Greece, a country once as rich in game as theirs? Was not the
whole of the Peloponnese desert of wild animals? On the question of
tobacco-growing he showed himself equally conversant with the salient
points of the dispute. He had naturally a fine delivery, and his voice
was a marvel of tone and clearness. He never hesitated for a word; he
never hurried. He was in his seat at the opening of the debates; he
never left until the end. He was always courteous, obliging, and
encouraging, and, like the speeches of all great statesmen, his remarks
were distinguished by a keen grasp of the obvious.
Malakopf watched his entry into this public life with amusement and
satisfaction. No tool could have been more apt, and the work he turned
out was excellent. At present the growing popularity of the Prince was
exactly what he wished to see. The more he shone in State matters, the
dimmer would become the light of the Princess. When the one had reached
its necessary brilliance, and the other suitably declined, he would
again intervene. In the meantime, the Prince gave him impeccable
dinners, priceless wines, and conversation that was positively
interesting owing to its extreme naïveté.
Princess Sophia, while the moles were at work under the feet of her
throne, had much enjoyed herself at Monte Carlo. During the early days
there she had been the victim of a run of extreme ill-luck, but the
second half of August saw her more than quits. She had begun her little
outing with unwonted soberness, never staking on one number, often
backing a dozen, and occasionally even so far demeaning herself as to
bet by the hour on the colour. On this ignoble plan she had lost with
great regularity, and, as her stakes were usually high, with fair
rapidity. She became disgusted, almost bored, and returned with ardour
to her more hazardous procedure. The fickle goddess was charmed at the
recantation of the heresies which could never have been permanent, and
had looked on her with peculiar favour, and thus it came about that in
the third week in September, even before the House, which the fine
example of Petros had rendered even more conscientious and industrious
than usual, had risen, she announced by telegram her earlier return, and
the return of forty thousand napoleons.
Petros went down to Mavromáti to meet the _Felatrune_, and she seemed
pleased and a little surprised to see him.
‘I should have thought your duties in the Assembly would not have
allowed you leisure to come,’ she said. Then, suddenly laying her hand
on his shoulder, ‘How you have grown, Petros!’ she said; and it seemed
to Petros that she was in the mood to be amused, for she laughed at her
own remark, which seemed to him so void of point that he did not even
remember to repeat it to Malakopf, who would probably not have been
amused at all.