A FOOL LEAVES RHODOPÉ.
Meantime, at the Palace the large house-party who were staying with
Petros for the New Year fêtes had heard the shouting, and wondered a
little nervously what it meant. They knew that the Bill for the
Abolition of Gambling-Houses was to be considered that afternoon, and
this acclamation, if it was to be referred to the Bill, could only mean
that it had been thrown out by an enormous majority. If so, how did
Petros stand? Was the shouting an applause to his vote recorded against
the Bill? And if so, how did Sophia stand? The subject was a delicate
one for guests to talk of, and they pretended not to hear the shouting,
and spoke politely together of the change in the weather.
But it ever grew in volume, and the noise was getting nearer.
Uncontrollable curiosity gained on them, and, rising, each questioned
the eyes of the others. Soon the shouting, like some tide on the flow,
reached the courtyard of the Palace, and a moment later the doors of the
great reception-room, where they were awaiting the coming of the Prince,
for the dinner-hour was now long past, were thrown open by the
major-domo, and to the incredible surprise of all--for she had dressed
at the English Legation--Sophia entered.
The Princess had no idea who formed the house-party which Petros had
invited for the New Year fêtes, but in the very flush of her triumph it
did not seem to her possible that there might be an awkward moment in
front of her. But had she known what presences that door flung wide
would show, even she might have paused. But, smiling, and on fire with
the music of the shouting, she sailed into the room. Just in front of
her, imminent and encompassing as a nightmare, stood Petros’s mother,
Princess Caroline of Herzegovina.
That remarkable lady was English, of overwhelming size, and she always
denied ever having been a barmaid at the Alhambra Theatre. She was
dressed--or you would rather say bound--in a ruby velvet gown, her
ornaments were cairngorms and turquoises, and her fan was of ostrich
feathers dyed pink. To her Prince Petros, in a moment of unguarded
confidence, had hinted at the upshot of this night’s work, and when she
saw Sophia her voluminous bodice remained expanded with a quick-taken
breath, and the two for a moment looked at each other in silence. Sophia
recovered herself first.
‘Oh, I am even as delighted and surprised to see you, dear Princess,’
she cried, ‘as you are to see me. I appear like the man in the moon, do
I not? It is ages since we met. Where is Petros, you ask me? Petros is
detained;’ and she passed on, shaking hands, to her other guests,
mistress of herself and her house.
The Princess Caroline’s face was a fine study for a man who was bold
enough to look at her. Her black, swarthy eyebrows meeting over her
large, parrot-like nose grew knotted with thought; she could not doubt
but that something had happened. What could this return of Sophia amid
acclamation and welcome portend? Where was Petros, who a few hours ago
had gone to the Assembly, tremulous, yet hopeful? Malakopf, too?
Malakopf was to have dined at the Palace to-night. He had not come, and
already Sophia had passed through the folding dining-room doors, and the
others were following. The arrangement of the table had been thrown
hopelessly out of gear by these alterations, but Sophia did not have
Malakopf’s chair removed. She herself, with an extraordinary naturalness
of manner, talked and laughed and ate and drank heartily and with great
enjoyment, and Princess Caroline grew momently more thunderous in aspect
and more apprehensive.
The dinner had been later than usual, and it was nearly ten when the
dessert was put on. Suddenly Sophia rose.
‘I must beg the attention of all of you a moment,’ she said. ‘You will
probably hear a strange story when we go to the ball to-night, and it is
as well that you should hear the truth of it from me, though in outline
only. I have come back just in time to nip in the bud a plot against the
House of Ægina, against me and my son. The authors of the plot are
consequently unable to attend. Let us rise from table, your Royal
Highnesses, my lords and ladies.’
Princess Caroline wavered a moment, then threw herself, fan, eyebrows
and all, at Sophia’s feet.
‘Oh, have pity!’ she cried, and in her emotion her breeding had its way.
‘Poor Petros never meant any ‘arm. Oh my! I don’t know what I shall do!
Where is poor Petros? Oh, let me go to him!’
Sophia motioned to her other guests to leave the room, and they were
left alone.
‘My poor dear Princess,’ she said, ‘Petros has made a tragic ass of
himself! He has been quite incredibly foolish and wicked. I am very
sorry, but I gave him a warning before, and he would not take it. Oh,
don’t cry so! He will not have his head cut off; but he will never sit
any more close to the throne of Rhodopé, because he tried to occupy the
seat. Yes, you shall see him to-morrow. You will not come to the fête
to-night, of course? I really am very sorry for you. Oh, please get up!
Your tiara has fallen off.’
Prince Petros--and herein was a sting--had ordered the fête on a scale
of unexampled magnificence to celebrate the events of the afternoon.
These events had turned out somewhat wide of his conjecture, but the
magnificence of the fête was unimpaired, and very fitly commemorated
Sophia’s return. He had planned an enthusiastic reception of himself and
Malakopf. Sophia took their place, but the enthusiasm of the welcome
fully came up to his imaginings.
The High Court of Justice met early the next week to try Prince Petros
and Malakopf. It was not difficult to find witnesses for the
prosecution, for the whole House had heard Malakopf’s public repudiation
of the House of Ægina, and Prince Petros, wise for once, when asked
whether or no he was guilty of high treason against his wife, the
Princess Sophia, pleaded guilty, hoping thereby for a mitigation of his
sentence. The Lord Chief Justice, as he was bound to do, pronounced
sentence of perpetual imprisonment at the Princess’s pleasure, and,
without ordering the removal of the prisoners from the dock, sent, in
accordance with the procedure of the Court of Rhodopé, a message to her,
to say that he had done his duty, and waited for the confirmation of the
sentence. She had also petitioned the Court for a separation between
herself and her husband, and this, of course, was granted her.
Sophia had spared the two the humiliation of a public trial, and the
case was tried _in camera_, there being present only the jury,
sufficient witnesses to establish the accusation, the judge, and the
counsel for and against the prisoners. In a few moments, however, the
door to the judge’s private rooms opened, and Sophia herself entered.
The Chief Justice immediately vacated his place, and all remained
standing till Sophia had seated herself. She was dressed in black, her
face was very stern, and Petros, looking thereon, felt his hopes die.
But she spoke first, not to him, but to Malakopf.
‘Alexis Malakopf, prisoner at the bar,’ she said, ‘Prime Minister of my
Government, you have been found guilty of high treason, and for you I
have no pity. I heard your words spoken in the Assembly, I heard your
astounding insults and repudiation of our Royal House. How is it
possible for me to mitigate your sentence? You are not young, you have
not been led away by another; you are old, and you are wicked. Long ago
I knew what you were planning, long ago you made a boast that my husband
was but the glove which covered your hand. Do you remember your words? I
see that you do. I may have been unwise--I have been unwise in many
things--but I have ever dealt frankly with you. I will hear if you have
anything to say in your defence. But if you have any self-respect left,
I cannot conjecture what you will say.’
There was silence in the court.
‘So be it,’ said Sophia at length; ‘as you have sown, so shall you reap.
You have been accused of high treason to my house, you have been found
guilty. Your crime is the more odious in that you must needs act through
another; you must needs make my unhappy husband your tool. You have done
a monstrous thing. The sentence of the Court is confirmed, and for the
remainder of your days you are confined in our prison at Amandos.’
Malakopf was removed, and when he had gone Sophia turned to Petros.
‘Oh, Petros,’ she said, leaning forward, and speaking so that he alone
could clearly hear her, ‘have I deserved this of you? What had I done
that you could treat me so? Was it not your place rather to reason with
me, if you thought I was acting unwisely for my people? If you thought I
ought to have been more sedulous in my duties, should you not have told
me so? Yes, you will say that I did not give a very patient ear to you,
and thus the fault is partly mine, and I own it. But no good fruit ever
came out of disloyalty, and even if your infamous plan had succeeded,
the fruit would have been an apple from the Dead Sea, dust and ashes to
your mouth. Perhaps this is no time to make reproaches, but we shall not
meet again, my poor Petros, and what I have to say to you must be said
now.’
She stopped a moment; her voice was soft with tears, and trembled. The
unhappy man had covered his face with his hands, and his shoulders shook
with his sobbing.
‘Petros,’ she went on, ‘what a change is here, since when you came so
gallantly to Amandos, since we sat all night at bezique, since we rode
to the review, and raced home! We have not made a very successful
marriage, and I blame myself, believe me, as much as you. But that it
should come to this! There I blame you. Did I not warn you? Have the
justice to admit that I warned you when I told you that you were no
Napoleon. Jesting words, no doubt; but you are not slow, and you saw
what I meant. Oh, I know well that you saw what I meant. Again, when I
left Mavromáti, did I not say that I trusted you to the utmost? I could
think of nothing which should have been so tonic as that. If there had
been one seed of loyalty in you, those words should have warmed and
watered it.’
Petros raised his head.
‘Before God, Sophia,’ he cried, ‘I never thought----’
She shook her head.
‘Do not say that,’ she said, ‘for you did think. You must have
calculated long and carefully. I should, I think, have forgiven you if
you had in some sudden exasperation tried to cut my throat, for I know
how exasperating I must often have been; but this scheming and
cold-blooded conspiracy, it beats me! I cannot understand it. My poor
friend, I do not mean to mock at you, but you would have been a more
successful figure to-day if you had stuck to your riding and your
bezique. Good-bye, Petros; we shall not meet again. You shall know how
Leonard grows up.’
He buried his face in his hands, unable to look at her, waiting only for
the confirmation of his sentence. Sophia paused, allowing her emotion to
quiet itself, and then spoke in a firm voice:
‘The separation granted by the court between Prince Petros and myself is
confirmed,’ she said. ‘But the Crown, having pity for the Prince’s
youth, and bearing in mind that he was no more than the tool of another,
commutes his sentence of perpetual imprisonment to perpetual banishment
from the realm of Rhodopé. He is free to go and to do as he will
outside our dominions. He will leave Mavromáti this afternoon in the
royal yacht _Felatrune_, to the commander of which orders shall be given
to go where the Prince directs. He will be removed secretly, so that no
public disrespect shall be shown him. I thank you, my Lord Chief Justice
and gentlemen. The court is adjourned.’
She stepped down from the Bench, and went to the front of the dock,
holding out her hand.
‘Good-bye, Petros,’ she said, and with a sudden flood of tears he bent
and kissed it.