THE PRINCESS IS VERY MUCH THERE.
The Parliament House at Amandos, standing next the cathedral in the
square, is but a small building, for its full attendance is only sixty;
but for beauty of proportion and exquisiteness of finish it would be
difficult to name its fellow. Over the main entrance is a carved wooden
gallery, where the friends of Members can attend a debate; at the other
a raised platform, on which are the seats for the six Ministers of the
Crown, and the throne itself. These are near the wall, and close behind
the throne is the small door which communicates with the Princess’s
private way into the Palace. Three steps lead up from the floor of the
House on to the platform, which is faced by a low bronze balustrade of
dolphins, and foliage, and mermaids. It is the custom for any Minister
who wishes to address the House on the debate to take his place not on
the platform, but on the Ministerial front bench. Similarly the monarch,
if contributing to the debate, sits as the first of his own Ministers.
The custom is an ancient one, and certainly signifies that while
appealing to the House, and arguing for or against a question, all are
equal as Members of that House, and carry no official rank.
The seats of the Members are arranged in two rows on each side of the
gangway of the House, which is paved in variously coloured marbles from
Búlteck. The most exquisite patterns in red, green, and yellow adorn it,
and in the centre, in lapis lazuli, jasper, and white marble, are
wrought the crown and royal arms of Rhodopé. Behind the Members’ seats
on each side stand the busts of the Princes of Rhodopé, an unbroken line
dating from the time of Constantine, first Prince of the House of Ægina.
This is one of the finest of the series, and is by Desiderio da
Settignano, one of Donatello’s few pupils. The seats of the Members are
great oak armchairs in scarlet brocade, and the walls are covered with
old oak woodwork of the fifteenth century.
But the marvel of the place is the throne; it is made throughout of
ivory, a panel of gold brocade is let into the back, and the cushion of
the seat is covered with the same. Two gold lions support the arms, and
back, arms, and front are thickly incrusted with precious stones, and
goldsmith’s work attributed to Benvenuto Cellini. The footstool is
likewise of ivory, and gold brocade covers the tread of it. The whole is
set on four steps, the first of which is covered with a thick facing of
white Arabian agate, the second with jasper, the third with cornelian,
and the fourth with chalcedony. Thus, though it stands far back from
the House, the whole of it, owing to its elevation, is clearly seen over
the low bronze balustrade of the platform.
The morning of December 31 dawned clear and light after the tempest of
the two days before, but an ominous stillness, like the hush before a
storm, hung over the town. None was bold enough to forecast the probable
issue of events--none, indeed, knew exactly what was happening. Those
who refused to believe that Sophia was responsible for this crisis were
already in the large majority, but as it was thought that she was in
England, nothing but a telegram from her--unless, indeed, she was still
ignorant of what was taking place--could within the bounds of
possibility save the situation. That this preposterous Bill could be
carried was not worth consideration; it was not even known whether
Prince Petros would vote for it. None knew what manner of communication
he would make. It was hinted that he would merely mention that it was
introduced by the Sovereign, and thus would become law, others thought
he might go so far as to disclaim all share in it, and even express
sympathy with the nation. Some, as has been already mentioned, saw in
him the first cause of it, and were wildly indignant against him;
others, again, affirmed that none were so indignant as himself, and that
he regarded the fall of Sophia as inevitable, and not unjust. What line
the present Government would take, what form the future Government would
assume, none knew. There was, however, certainly a considerable party
which would gladly have seen Petros on the throne, if Sophia really
intended to commit this wild and obstinate mistake; others, it was
supposed, were Republicans in tendency, and pointed silently to Malakopf
as the President of the Republic. One thing only, in the midst of this
feverish uncertainty, was sure--the Bill could not become law.
The debate was fixed for half-past three, but long before that time the
gallery of the House was filled to overflowing with eager eyes, and
every Member, chilly and apprehensive, was in his seat. All the
Ministers were in the body of the House, indicating that all meant to
take part in the debate. This by itself was ominous enough, for it
showed that there would be a debate on a Bill introduced by the Crown, a
fact in itself unique and unprecedented. Prince Petros had not yet
arrived, but the half-hour still tingled in the air from the great
bronze chime of the cathedral, when the private door from the Palace
opened, and he came quickly in. The Members, all wearing levée dress,
remained standing till he had taken his seat on the throne; then, after
a moment’s pause, he took up the paper for the day, and again read out
the text of the inexplicable Bill. It was noticed that he looked pale,
but his voice was steady.
‘“That all gambling-houses in the realm of Rhodopé, of every sort
and degree, private or public, be closed, and that no game of
hazard be henceforward played therein.
‘“That to play any such game in public, or to bet in public, be a
felony.
‘“That licenses shall be withdrawn from every licensed
gambling-house in the aforementioned realm of Rhodopé.
‘“That the building known as the Club be converted into an asylum
for decayed and idiotic old gentlemen, the purpose for which the
ground was originally intended.
‘“That the person known as Pierre be sent back to Monte Carlo, his
passage (second class) paid.
‘“That these regulations come into effect on the first day of
January (new style), 1857.
‘“SOPHIA,
‘“_Hereditary Princess of Rhodopé_.”’
In dead silence he read, in dead silence he put down the paper on the
little ivory table by the throne, and walked to the seat reserved for
the monarch, if he should take part in the debate, as the first of his
Ministers. His step did not falter, he neither hurried nor hung back,
and after a pause of a moment or two, in which the House waited in dead
silence, he took a little sheaf of papers from his pocket, and, rising
to his feet, turned his back on the throne so as to face the Members,
and spoke.
‘Gentlemen,’ he said, ‘you have heard in silence and in dismay the
communication I have read you from the throne. With what dismay I read
it I cannot hope to picture to you. It is an anomaly that any speech
should be made on a Bill introduced by the Crown except by the Crown
itself, but I observe that Her Royal Highness’s Ministers have taken
their places in the House. I sympathize with them, and though I suppose
I have the right, as the Princess’s representative, to order that they
go back to their places’--here an angry murmur arose from the
gallery--‘I cannot find it in my heart to do so. I suspend the rule that
no speech should be made but my own. In this I trust I am not disloyal
to my beloved wife, whom I represent. I really cannot feel clear how she
would act. I must use my judgment.
‘I do not know what manner of speech you expect from me,’ he continued.
‘Indeed, I scarcely know what to say, and yet I must tell you what is in
my heart. At least I may claim your pity, for no man, I think, was ever
in so terrible a position. Every word of that Bill was bitter to me,
for, indeed--you hear my voice for the last time--the people of Rhodopé
are very dear to me. But dearer is my love for my wife’--here his voice
rose a little--‘the Princess Sophia, and dearer the little rag of
loyalty which I can still keep, which nothing--no iron chains of
circumstance, no monstrous necessity--can strip from me.’
The last words vibrated with intensest passion; they seemed instinct
with truth and loyalty. The man was a great orator. He paused a moment,
and went on more calmly:
‘But in justice to myself, though you shall all see which way my
conscience commands me to vote as the representative of Her Royal
Highness--in justice to myself, I must say a few words of exculpation.
Believe me, I am altogether innocent of this stupendous error. Not one
word have I exchanged with the Princess Sophia on this matter; she never
consulted me on it, and perhaps wisely, for she must have known what I
should feel. It is scarcely six months ago that she in person
inaugurated the club, in the formation and execution of which I may,
without boasting, claim no inconsiderable share. That club, so I am
happy to think, has poured money like a snow-fed torrent into Rhodopé;
many hundreds of the citizens have shares in it, which yield a
percentage which no gold mine can rival. Indirectly how much more has it
proved to have enriched us! Was not the capital last autumn one hive of
visitors from other countries, bringing not only wealth to us, but an
interchange of ideas, enlarging our horizons, making us feel that we had
brethren from over-sea? And now what? This great building is to be
closed, the visitors will come no more; they will leave our pine breezes
for the languorous air of the Riviera, and we--we shall go back to the
old life. Let me take a few figures to show you just what this means,
dealing only with small items easy to understand. Last year there were
eight restaurants and five hotels in Rhodopé, now there are forty-six
restaurants and seventeen hotels completely open, and far more in course
of construction. This increase is not profitable alone, nor even
principally perhaps, to the enterprise of those who have started them.
The farmer finds a readier market for his sheep, the vine-grower for his
wines; there is not a single trade which has not profited largely by
this. This increased prosperity has filtered through every minutest
channel of our industries. Where sheep only fed on the mountain-side now
resound the cries of the golfers, and the barren land north of Mavromáti
fetches a rental of eighty pounds sterling as a links. Take, again, the
case of the vine-grower. Such is the wonderful fertility of our soil, in
other years we have often sent wine abroad, for the consumption at home
is not equal to the supply. But now what do we see? Our vineyards cannot
keep pace with the demand; we import much from France, from Germany, and
the cheaper hotels, I am told, from California and Australia, and the
duty swells our revenues. From this I hoped that we should advance even
further, that more land would be taken into cultivation, more folk
profitably employed. Alas, and alas, for my dreams!’
The House had been attentive when he began; now, you may say, they hung
on hooks. It had not, at any rate, been expected that the Prince would
express himself so unmistakably. A murmur of sympathetic applause rose
and died and rose again. The tide of popular approval flowed in his
favour; he at least was opposed to this measure. Malakopf alone was
uneasy; he shifted in his seat, his quick brain sought handles in the
Prince’s words, yet from every point he retired baffled. Petros, it is
true, was creating an impression most unfavourable to Sophia. Malakopf
had to do the same for him. The Presidency of the Republic still hung in
the wavering balance.
‘I had hoped otherwise,’ continued Petros. ‘I had hoped to see the
commerce of Europe pour into Rhodopé. Acre on acre of fruitful soil
waits only for the cultivator to say “Sesame!” We are not a tax-ridden
folk like Italy; our country, happier than England, produces more than
unwholesome beer and unpayable corn. We wanted only the impetus to
begin, for we are but at the beginning. The impetus we have had; what
follows? Again Rhodopé will become a sealed land, a land of mountains
and inhospitable ravines to the civilized world, a minor State, an
insignificant Balkan province. Ah----’ and he stopped with a cleverly
taken gulping breath.
Once more a murmur of more audible applause thrilled through the
benches; sympathy seemed on the way to be warmed to boiling-point.
Malakopf signed to the Prince to cease, but the latter took no notice,
and the Prime Minister held himself in readiness to make his attack.
‘Two years ago--more than two years ago,’ continued Petros, speaking
slowly and regretfully, ‘I first set eyes on your incomparable land.
Many daydreams were mine. To the best of my poor ability I have striven
to make them real. I have devoted my time, my powers, such as they
are--but, oh, how gladly!--to contribute to the welfare of the country.
I have had two thoughts only--loyalty to my wife, loyalty to my
land--and now----’
Had the Prince and Malakopf had leisure to observe, they would have
noticed that eyes and attention were no longer glued on them. The people
of Rhodopé, always fond of drama, were having a delightful afternoon. A
more palpable stillness had fallen on the House, and when Petros paused
on the pathetic word, no sympathy thrilled the Assembly. But his great
point was approaching, and it was too imminent for Malakopf to
disregard. The unstable tide was setting too strongly for him not to
interfere, and as he rose the Prince sat down in an assumed humility,
and with a gesture to Malakopf to proceed.
‘I have a question to ask,’ grated out the Prime Minister. ‘The Princess
Sophia is known to be tolerant to gambling, yet now she introduces a
Bill condemning it. She shuts up the club she has opened--on whose
suggestion? We are here in debate, a course unprecedented when the Crown
introduces a Bill. That such a Bill should be opposed is beyond
question, but who is the real author of it? Who but one has persuaded
her to this course? Too long--I say it openly--have we suffered under
the strange whims of the House of Ægina. Princess Sophia, as you all
very well know, spends her days at Monte Carlo, yet she treats us like
children, and would forbid us to gamble in Rhodopé. And has she never
been seen at the tables? And how often is she seen in her place in this
House? Who, after all, is the Prince Petros but the husband of the
gambling Princess? Who, after all, is the Princess herself? Her place is
here among us, but where is she?’ And looking round to face Petros, he
faced also the throne, and his speech froze.
Petros sprang to his feet, determined, like Malakopf, to play his last
card.
‘I, too, am no friend of the House of Ægina,’ he cried, ‘except in so
far as I am the husband of the Princess. We want a ruler who will have
the true interests of the nation at heart; we want----’
And he, too, seeing Malakopf stare open-eyed before him, stopped, then
turned round, for Malakopf’s eyes were fixed not on him, but beyond.
The platform where stood the throne and the official seats of the
Ministers was brilliantly lighted. On each side of the throne were three
seats, untenanted, for the Ministers were all in the body of the House.
On the throne sat Sophia, who had entered through the private door from
the Palace. She was dressed in white brocade; round her neck were four
strings of diamonds, conspicuous among which shone the Eastern gem; on
her head was the great tiara, an heirloom of Rhodopé, and she wore all
her Orders. She sat as still as the throne on which she was seated. She
seemed to listen to the debate, for her head was bent a little forward,
and her mouth was slightly parted, as if she would have something to say
in reply. The sun, low to its setting, shone full on her through the
window above the western door, and she was enveloped in a mantle of
rose. The beauty of her was incomparable.
For a moment there was dead silence when the echo of Petros’s last words
had died in the groining of the roof; then she raised her head a little,
and in a voice of gold, ‘His Highness Prince Petros is addressing the
House, gentlemen,’ she said.
Still dead silence, except for some woman in the gallery, who suddenly
burst into a cackling hysterical laugh.
‘I should like to hear my husband continue his speech,’ she said, when
the woman had stopped laughing.
Malakopf had sat down; Petros alone continued standing. Then Sophia
rose, but the House, still open-mouthed, continued gazing at her. She
drew herself up to her full height.
‘Gentlemen,’ she said; and they rose to their feet.
Without a shade of excitement in her face or hurry in her movement, as
if the subject of the debate were of no concern to her, she walked
across the platform, her train whispering behind her, and down to the
Ministers’ bench. Petros was in the place she would occupy if taking
part in the debate, and not even looking at him, she waved him aside
with her hand.
‘Do not leave the House,’ she said. ‘I have heard your speech; you shall
hear mine.’
Next Petros stood Malakopf, and the Princess swept by him with an air of
ineffable disdain. In her hand she held the Bill Petros had just read
out, and standing in her place she glanced through it, and her face
flushed. Then, ‘Be seated, gentlemen,’ she said.
She still held the Bill in her hand, and when the House had seated
itself she tore and tore it through and through, and again through,
scattered the pieces on the ground, and burst into speech.
‘That for the Bill!’ she said--‘that for the Bill which falsely and
impudently is before the House as my Bill. Before God, I never set eyes
on the thing before, and I think you will read the truth of what I say
if you look at the face of the Prime Minister on my left and on the face
of my husband. It is one of the duties of Royalty to be punctual, and am
I not divinely punctual? Oh, it is incredible!’ she cried--‘it is
incredible that two men could be so infamous and so stupid! And I was to
be the victim of this astounding conspiracy--I! Indeed, gentlemen, I am
not in the humour to be a victim. You heard the Prince’s speech; he
spoke of his loyalty to the interests of the country; he spoke, as I
thought, very convincingly of the benefits the club had brought to our
country; but above all, to cap his insolence, he spoke of his loyalty to
me. Did a man ever hear the equal of that? Oh, Petros, you are
unapproachable!’ and she looked at him for the first time.
Then she turned to Malakopf: ‘You spoke of the strange whims of the
House of Ægina,’ she said. ‘The strangest of all their whims was on the
day that you were made Prime Minister. I heard you ask, “Who, after
all, is the Princess Sophia?” I, after all, am the Princess Sophia!
“Where is the Princess Sophia?” you asked. Malakopf, I am here. In the
name of my ancestors!’ she cried, pointing to the row of busts--‘in the
name of my ancestors, Alexis Malakopf, I thank you for your loyalty to
my House!’
Then, turning to the Chief Justice, ‘I impeach both these men on a
charge of high treason against myself, Sophia, hereditary Princess of
Rhodopé. Let them be removed from the House; they await their trial.’
They were removed in custody, and till they had vanished there was
absolute silence in the House. Then Sophia rose again.
‘I intend,’ she said, ‘to make no further inquiry into this prodigiously
futile attempt against the throne. Indeed, it is difficult to take such
folly seriously, and were I not a little angry I should laugh. If any
present was associated with that dismal couple we have seen leave the
House, it is a matter for himself alone, and let him thank his Maker
that I heard no more speeches on the subject. This Bill, not being
introduced by me, falls to the ground. And now, gentlemen, for a
pleasanter task. I am here according to immemorial custom to thank my
Ministers and the Members of this House for the services they have
rendered to me and to my country during this past year. We have seen the
revenues increase and multiply during the last eight months; never, I
think, has Rhodopé been in so prosperous a condition. I thank you,
gentlemen, from my heart for your services.’
She curtsied right and left to the members of the Assembly, and then
stood a moment silent.
‘One thing more only,’ she said. ‘The customary New Year fêtes will take
place as usual, and Prince Petros’s list of invitations is mine.
Gentlemen, the House is prorogued.’
Flesh and blood could stand it no longer; Sophia’s appearance at such a
moment, the magnificence of her beauty, her royalty of demeanour, would
have made a man dumb from his birth to shout. The Minister of the
Interior leaped on to his brocaded chair like a schoolboy, and the Chief
Justice, being stout, mounted on to his as if it had been a horse.
‘Three cheers, and another and another, for the beloved Princess
Sophia!’ he cried, waving his three-cornered hat.
The scene was indecorous in the extreme. Some jumped on to their chairs,
others on to the table; they pounded the ground with sticks and stamped
and yelled. The chair of the Chief Justice collapsed under him, but
those near said he continued cheering even at the moment his head came
into sharp collision with the marble floor. The gallery was one open
mouth, roaring. It had already got about the town that the Princess had
come back, and when she appeared at the main door leading into the
square, where her carriage was waiting for her, a sea of faces met her.
As the door was opened the shouts of those inside streamed out like a
river, and, like the sea, the voices of the crowd outside swallowed
them up. In a moment her horses were unharnessed, and the folk fought
and pushed for a place between the shafts. Indeed Sophia had come back.