THE HEAD OF THE STATE.
The carriage and its escort passed the ancient gateway and driving
through a wide courtyard drew up at the entrance of the palace. The
President alighted. He fully appreciated the importance of retaining
the good will and support of the army, and immediately walked up to the
officer who commanded the Lancers. "None of your men hurt, I trust,"
he said.
"Nothing serious, General," replied the subaltern.
"You handled your troop with great judgment and courage. It shall be
remembered. But it is easy to lead brave men; they shall not be
forgotten. Ah, Colonel, you are quite right to come to me. I
anticipated some trouble with the disaffected classes, so soon as it
became known that we were still determined to maintain law and order in
the State." These last words were spoken to a dark, bronzed man who
had hurriedly entered the courtyard by a side gate. Colonel Sorrento,
for such was the newcomer's name, was the military chief of the Police.
Besides filling this important office, he discharged the duties of
War-Minister to the Republic. The combination enabled the civil power
to be supplemented by the military with great and convenient
promptitude, whenever it was necessary or desirable to take strong
measures. The arrangement was well suited to the times. Usually
Sorrento was calm and serene. He had seen many engagements and much
war of the type which knows no quarter, had been several times wounded,
and was regarded as a brave and callous man. But there is something
appalling in the concentrated fury of a mob, and the Colonel's manner
betrayed the fact that he was not quite proof against it.
"Are you wounded, Sir?" he asked, catching sight of the President's
face.
"It is nothing,--a stone; but they were very violent. Some one had
roused them; I had hoped to get away before the news was known. Who
was it spoke to them?"
"Moret, the Civic Councillor, from the balcony of the hotel. A very
dangerous man! He told them they were betrayed."
"Betrayed? What audacity! Surely such language would come within the
20th Section of the Constitution: _Inciting to violence against the
person of the Head of the State by misrepresentation or otherwise_."
The President was well versed in those clauses of the public law which
were intended to strengthen the hands of the Executive. "Have him
arrested, Sorrento. We cannot allow the majesty of Government to be
insulted with impunity,--or stay, perhaps it would be wiser to be
magnanimous now that the matter is settled. I do not want a State
prosecution just at present." Then he added in a louder voice: "This
young officer, Colonel, discharged his duty with great
determination,--a most excellent soldier. Please see that a note is
made of it. Promotion should always go by merit, not by age, for
services and not for service. We will not forget your behaviour, young
man."
He ascended the steps and entered the hall of the palace, leaving the
subaltern, a boy of twenty-two, flushed with pleasure and excitement,
to build high hopes of future command and success.
The hall was spacious and well-proportioned. It was decorated in the
purest style of the Lauranian Republic, the arms of which were
everywhere displayed. The pillars were of ancient marble and by their
size and colour attested the wealth and magnificence of former days.
The tessellated pavement presented a pleasing pattern. Elaborate
mosaics on the walls depicted scenes from the national history: the
foundation of the city; the peace of 1370; the reception of the envoys
of the Great Mogul: the victory of Brota; the death of Saldanho, that
austere patriot, who died rather than submit to a technical violation
of the Constitution. And then coming down to later years, the walls
showed the building of the Parliament House: the naval victory of Cape
Cheronta, and finally the conclusion of the Civil War in 1883. On
either side of the hall, in a deep alcove, a bronze fountain, playing
amid surrounding palms and ferns, imparted a feeling of refreshing
coolness to the eye and ear. Facing the entrance was a broad
staircase, leading to the state rooms whose doors were concealed by
crimson curtains.
A woman stood at the top of the stairs. Her hands rested on the marble
balustrade; her white dress contrasted with the bright-coloured
curtains behind her. She was very beautiful, but her face wore an
expression of alarm and anxiety. Woman-like she asked three questions
at once. "What has happened, Antonio? Have the people risen? Why
have they been firing?" She paused timidly at the head of the stairs,
as if fearing to descend.
"All is well," replied the President in his official manner. "Some of
the disaffected have rioted, but the Colonel here has taken every
precaution and order reigns once more, dearest." Then turning to
Sorrento, he went on: "It is possible that the disturbances may be
renewed. The troops should be confined to barracks and you may give
them an extra day's pay to drink the health of the Republic. Double
the Guards and you had better have the streets patrolled to-night. In
case anything happens, you will find me here. Good-night, Colonel."
He walked up a few steps, and the War-Minister, bowing gravely, turned
and departed.
The woman came down the stairs and they met midway. He took both her
hands in his and smiled affectionately; she, standing one step above
him, bent forward and kissed him. It was an amiable, though formal,
salutation.
"Well," he said, "we have got through to-day all right, my dear; but
how long it can go on, I do not know; the revolutionaries seem to get
stronger every day. It was a very dangerous moment just now in the
square; but is over for the present."
"I have passed an anxious hour," she said, and then, catching sight for
the first time of his bruised forehead, she started. "But you are
wounded."
"It is nothing," said the President. "They threw stones; now, we used
bullets; they are better arguments."
"What happened at the Senate?"
"I had expected trouble, you know. I told them in my speech that, in
spite of the unsettled state of affairs, we had decided to restore the
ancient Constitution of the Republic, but that it had been necessary to
purge the register of the disaffected and rebellious. The Mayor took
it out of the box and they scrambled over each other to look at the
total electorates for the divisions. When they saw how much they were
reduced they were very angry. Godoy was speechless; he is a fool, that
man. Louvet told them that it must be taken as an instalment, and that
as things got more settled the franchise would be extended; but they
howled with fury. Indeed, had it not been for the ushers and for a few
men of the Guard, I believe they would have assaulted me there and then
in the very Chamber itself. Moret shook his fist at me,--ridiculous
young ass--and rushed out to harangue the mob."
"And Savrola?"
"Oh, Savrola,--he was quite calm; he laughed when he saw the register.
'It is only a question of a few months,' he said; 'I wonder you think
it worth while.' I told him that I did not understand him, but he
spoke the truth for all that;" and then, taking his wife's hand in his,
he climbed the stairs slowly and thoughtfully.
But there is little rest for a public man in times of civil
disturbance. No sooner had Molara reached the top of the stairs and
entered the reception-room, than a man advanced to meet him from a door
at the far end. He was small, dark, and very ugly, with a face
wrinkled with age and an indoor life. Its pallor showed all the more
by contrast with his hair and short moustache, both of which were of
that purple blackness to which Nature is unable to attain. In his hand
he carried a large bundle of papers, carefully disposed into
departments by his long and delicate fingers. It was the Private
Secretary.
"What is it, Miguel?" asked the President; "you have some papers for
me?"
"Yes, Sir; a few minutes will suffice. You have had an exciting day; I
rejoice it has terminated successfully."
"It has not been devoid of interest," said Molara, wearily. "What have
you got for me?"
"Several foreign despatches. Great Britain has sent a note about the
Sphere of Influence to the south of the African Colony, to which the
Foreign Minister has drafted a reply."
"Ah! these English,--how grasping, how domineering! But we must be
firm. I will maintain the territories of the Republic against all
enemies, internal or external. We cannot send armies, but, thank God,
we can write despatches. Is it strong enough?"
"Your Excellency need have no fears. We have vindicated our rights
most emphatically; it will be a great moral victory."
"I hope we shall get material as well as moral good out of it. The
country is rich; there is paying gold; that explains the note. Of
course we must reply severely. What else?"
"There are some papers relating to the army, commissions and
promotions, Sir," said Miguel, fingering one particular bundle of his
papers, the bundle that lay between his first and second fingers.
"Those sentences for confirmation, a draft of Morgon's Budget for
information and opinion, and one or two minor matters."
"H'm, a long business! Very well, I will come and see to it. Dearest,
you know how pressed I am. We shall meet to-night at the dinner. Have
all the Ministers accepted?"
"All but Louvet, Antonio. He is detained by business."
"Business, pooh! He is afraid of the streets at night. What a thing
it is to be a coward! Thus he misses a good dinner. At eight then,
Lucile." And with a quick and decided step he passed through the small
door of the private office followed by the Secretary.
Madame Antonio Molara remained standing for a moment in the great
reception-room. Then she walked to the window and stepped out on to
the balcony. The scene which stretched before her was one of
surpassing beauty. The palace stood upon high ground commanding a wide
view of the city and the harbour. The sun was low on the horizon, but
the walls of the houses still stood out in glaring white. The red and
blue tiled roofs were relieved by frequent gardens and squares whose
green and graceful palms soothed and gratified the eye. To the north
the great pile of the Senate House and Parliament buildings loomed up
majestic and imposing. Westward lay the harbour with its shipping and
protecting forts. A few warships floated in the roads, and many
white-sailed smacks dotted the waters of the Mediterranean Sea, which
had already begun to change their blue for the more gorgeous colours of
sunset.
As she stood there in the clear light of the autumn evening, she looked
divinely beautiful. She had arrived at that age of life, when to the
attractions of a maiden's beauty are added those of a woman's wit. Her
perfect features were the mirror of her mind, and displayed with every
emotion and every mood that vivacity of expression which is the
greatest of woman's charms. Her tall figure was instinct with grace,
and the almost classic dress she wore enhanced her beauty and
harmonised with her surroundings.
Something in her face suggested a wistful aspiration. Lucile had
married Antonio Molara nearly five years before, when he was in the
height and vigour of his power. Her family had been among the stoutest
supporters of his cause, and her father and brother had lost their
lives on the battlefield of Sorato. Her mother, broken down by
calamity and sorrow, lived only to commend her daughter to the care of
their most powerful friend, the general who had saved the State and
would now rule it. He had accepted the task at first from a feeling of
obligation to those who had followed his star so faithfully, but
afterwards from other motives. Before a month had passed he fell in
love with the beautiful girl whom Fortune had led to him. She admired
his courage, his energy, and his resource; the splendours of the office
that he filled were not without their influence; he offered her wealth
and position,--almost a throne; and besides he was a fine figure of a
man. She was twenty-three when they married. For many months her life
had been a busy one. Receptions, balls, and parties had filled the
winter season with the unremitting labour of entertaining. Foreign
princes had paid her homage, not only as the loveliest woman in Europe,
but also as a great political figure. Her _salon_ was crowded with the
most famous men from every country. Statesmen, soldiers, poets, and
men of science had worshipped at the shrine. She had mixed in matters
of State. Suave and courtly ambassadors had thrown out delicate hints,
and she had replied with unofficial answers. Plenipotentiaries had
explained the details of treaties and protocols, with remarkable
elaboration, for her benefit. Philanthropists had argued, urged, and
expounded their views or whims. Every one talked to her of public
business. Even her maid had approached her with an application for the
advancement of her brother, a clerk in the Post Office; and every one
had admired her until admiration itself, the most delicious drink that
a woman tastes, became insipid.
But even during the first few years there had been something wanting.
What it was Lucile had never been able to guess. Her husband was
affectionate and such time as he could spare from public matters was at
her service. Of late things had been less bright. The agitation of
the country, the rising forces of Democracy, added to the already heavy
business of the Republic, had taxed the President's time and energies
to the full. Hard lines had come into his face, lines of work and
anxiety, and sometimes she had caught a look of awful weariness, as of
one who toils and yet foresees that his labour will be vain. He saw
her less frequently, and in those short intervals talked more and more
of business and politics.
A feeling of unrest seemed to pervade the capital. The season, which
had just begun, had opened badly. Many of the great families had
remained in their summer residences on the slopes of the mountains,
though the plains were already cool and green; others had kept to their
own houses in the city, and only the most formal entertainments at the
palace had been attended. As the outlook became more threatening it
seemed that she was able to help him less. Passions were being roused
that blinded the eyes to beauty and dulled the mind to charm. She was
still a queen, but her subjects were sullen and inattentive. What
could she do to help him, now that he was so hard pressed? The thought
of abdication was odious to her, as to every woman. Must she remain
directing the ceremonies of the Court after the brilliancy had died
out, while enemies were working night and day to overturn all that she
was attached to?
"Can I do nothing, nothing?" she murmured. "Have I played my part? Is
the best of life over?" and then, with a hot wave of petulant resolve,
"I will do it,--but what?"
The question remained unanswered; the edge of the sun dipped beneath
the horizon and at the end of the military mole, from the shapeless
mound of earth that marked the protecting battery of the harbour,
sprang a puff of smoke. It was the evening gun, and the sound of the
report, floating faintly up to her, interrupted the unpleasing
reflections which had filled her thoughts; but they left a memory
behind. She turned with a sigh and re-entered the palace; gradually
the daylight died away and it became night.