THE DEPUTATION.
It was the President's custom to rise early, but before doing so he
invariably received the newspapers and read such remarks as dealt with
the policy of the Government or criticised its actions. This morning
his literature was exceptionally plentiful. All the papers had leading
articles on the restriction of the franchise and the great riot which
had followed its announcement. He first opened THE HOUR, the organ of
orthodox mediocrity, which usually cautiously supported the Government
in consideration of occasional pieces of news with which it was from
time to time favoured. In a column and a half of print THE HOUR gently
regretted that the President had been unable to restore the franchises
unimpaired; it thus gratified the bulk of its readers. In a second
column it expressed its severe disapproval--(_unqualified condemnation_
was the actual term)--of the disgraceful riot which had led to such
_deplorable consequences_; it thus repaid the President for sending
round the text of the English note, which had arrived the night before,
and which it printed _verbatim_ with pomp and circumstance as coming
from Our Special Correspondent in London.
THE COURTIER, the respectable morning journal of the upper classes,
regretted that so unseemly a riot should have taken place at the
beginning of the season, and expressed a hope that it would not in any
way impair the brilliancy of the State Ball which was to take place on
the 7th. It gave an excellent account of the President's first
ministerial dinner, with the _menu_ duly appended, and it was concerned
to notice that Señor Louvet, Minister of the Interior, had been
suffering from an indisposition which prevented his attending the
function. THE DIURNAL GUSHER, a paper with an enormous circulation,
refrained from actual comments but published an excellent account of
the _massacre_, to the harrowing details of which it devoted much
fruity sentiment and morbid imagination.
These were practically the organs on which the Government relied for
support, and the President always read them first to fortify himself
against the columns of abuse with which the Radical, Popular, and
Democratic Press saluted him, his Government, and all his works. The
worst result of an habitual use of strong language is that when a
special occasion really does arise, there is no way of marking it. THE
FABIAN, THE SUNSPOT, and THE RISING TIDE had already exhausted every
epithet in their extensive vocabularies on other and less important
incidents. Now that a severe fusilade had been made upon the citizens
and an ancient privilege attacked, they were reduced to comparative
moderation as the only outlet for their feelings. They had compared
the Head of the State so often and so vividly to Nero and Iscariot,
very much to the advantage of those worthies, that it was difficult to
know how they could deal with him now. They nevertheless managed to
find a few unused expressions, and made a great point of the
Ministerial dinner as being an instance of his "brutal disregard of the
commonest instincts of humanity." THE SUNSPOT was thought by its
readers to have been particularly happy in alluding to the ministers
as, "Indulging in a foul orgie of gluttony and dipping their
blood-stained fingers in choice dishes, while the bodies of their
victims lay unburied and unavenged."
Having finished his perusal the President pushed the last paper off the
bed and frowned. He cared nothing for criticism, but he knew the power
of the Press and he knew that it reflected as well as influenced public
opinion. There could be no doubt that the balance was rising against
him.
At breakfast he was moody and silent, and Lucile tactfully refrained
from irritating him by the laboured commonplaces of matutinal
conversation. By nine o'clock he was always at work and this morning
he began earlier than usual. The Secretary was already at his table
busily writing when Molara entered. He rose and bowed, a formal bow,
which seemed an assertion of equality rather than a tribute of respect.
The President nodded and walked to his table on which such parts of
correspondence as needed his personal attention were neatly arranged.
He sat down and began to read. Occasionally he uttered an exclamation
of assent or disapproval, and his pencil was often employed to express
his decisions and opinions. From time to time Miguel collected the
papers he had thus dealt with and carried them to the inferior
secretaries in the adjoining room, whose duty it was to elaborate into
the stately pomposity of official language such phrases as "Curt
Refusal" "Certainly not" "Apply to War Office" "Gushing Reply" "I do
not agree" "See last year's Report."
Lucile also had letters to read and write. Having finished these she
determined to take a drive in the park. For the last few weeks, since,
in fact, they had returned from their summer residence, she had
discontinued what had been in former years her usual practice; but
after the scenes and riots of the day before she felt it her duty to
display a courage which she did not feel. It might help her husband,
for her beauty was such that an artistic people invariably showed her
respect. It could at least do no harm, and besides she was weary of
the palace and its gardens. With this intention her carriage was
ordered and she was about to enter it, when a young man arrived at the
door. He saluted her gravely.
It was the boast of the citizens of the Republic of Laurania that they
never brought politics into private life or private life into politics.
How far they justified it will appear later. The present situation had
undoubtedly strained the principle to the full, but civilities were
still exchanged between political antagonists. Lucile, who had known
the great Democrat as a frequent visitor at her father's house before
the Civil War, and who had always kept up a formal acquaintance with
him, smiled and bowed in return and asked whether he came to see the
President.
"Yes," he replied. "I have an appointment."
"Public matters I suppose?" she inquired with the suspicion of a smile.
"Yes," he repeated somewhat abruptly.
"How tiresome you all are," she said daringly, "with your public
businesses and solemn looks. I hear nothing but matters of State from
morning till night, and now, when I fly the palace for an hour's
relaxation, they meet me at the very door."
Savrola smiled. It was impossible to resist her charm. The admiration
he had always felt for her beauty and her wit asserted itself in spite
of the watchful and determined state of mind into which he had thrown
himself as a preparation for his interview with the President. He was
a young man, and Jupiter was not the only planet he admired. "Your
Excellency," he said, "must acquit me of all intention."
"I do," she answered laughing, "and release you from all further
punishment."
She signed to the coachman and bowing, drove off.
He entered the palace and was ushered by a footman resplendent in the
blue and buff liveries of the Republic, into an ante-room. A young
officer of the Guard, the Lieutenant who had commanded the escort on
the previous day, received him. The President would be disengaged in a
few minutes. The other members of the deputation had not yet arrived;
in the meantime would he take a chair? The Lieutenant regarded him
dubiously, as one might view some strange animal, harmless enough to
look at, but about whose strength, when roused, there were
extraordinary stories. He had been brought up in the most correct
regimental ideas: the people (by which he meant the mob) were "swine";
their leaders were the same, with an adjective prefixed; democratic
institutions, Parliament, and such like, were all "rot." It therefore
appeared that he and Savrola would find few topics in common. But
besides his good looks and good manners, the young soldier had other
attainments; his men knew him as "all right" and "all there," while the
Lancers of the Guard polo team regarded him as a most promising player.
Savrola, whose business it was to know everything, inquired respecting
the project lately mooted by the Lauranian Cavalry of sending a polo
team to England to compete in the great annual tournament at
Hurlingham. Lieutenant Tiro (for that was his name) addressed himself
to the subject with delight. They disputed as to who should be taken
as "back." The discussion was only interrupted by the entrance of the
Mayor and Renos, and the Subaltern went off to inform the President
that the deputation waited.
"I will see them at once," said Molara; "show them up here."
The deputation were accordingly conducted up the stairs to the
President's private room. He rose and received them with courtesy.
Godoy stated the grievances of the citizens. He recalled the protests
they had made against the unconstitutional government of the last five
years, and their delight at the President's promise to call the Estates
together. He described their bitter disappointment at the restriction
of the franchise, and their keen desire that it should be fully
restored. He dilated on their indignation at the cruelty with which
the soldiers had shot down unarmed men, and finally declared that, as
Mayor, he could not vouch for their continued loyalty to the President
or their respect for his person. Renos spoke in the same strain,
dwelling particularly on the legal aspect of the President's late
action, and on the gravity of its effects as a precedent to posterity.
Molara replied at some length. He pointed out the disturbed state of
the country, and particularly of the capital; he alluded to the
disorders of the late war and the sufferings it had caused to the mass
of the people. What the State wanted was strong stable government. As
things became more settled the franchise should be extended until it
would ultimately be completely restored. In the meanwhile, what was
there to complain about? Law and order were maintained; the public
service was well administered; the people enjoyed peace and security.
More than that, a vigorous foreign policy held the honour of the
country high. They should have an instance.
He turned and requested Miguel to read the reply to the English note on
the African Dispute. The Secretary stood up and read the paper in
question, his soft, purring voice, proving well suited to emphasising
the insults it contained.
"And that, Gentlemen," said the President, when it was finished, "is
addressed to one of the greatest military and naval powers in the
world."
Godoy and Renos were silent. Their patriotism was roused; their pride
was gratified; but Savrola smiled provokingly. "It will take more than
despatches," he said, "to keep the English out of the African sphere,
or to reconcile the people of Laurania to your rule."
"And if stronger measures should be necessary," said the President,
"rest assured they will be taken."
"After the events of yesterday we need no such assurance."
The President ignored the taunt. "I know the English Government," he
continued; "they will not appeal to arms."
"And I," said Savrola, "know the Lauranian people. I am not so
confident."
There was a long pause. Both men faced each other, and their eyes met.
It was the look of two swordsmen who engage, and it was the look of two
bitter enemies; they appeared to measure distances and calculate
chances. Then Savrola turned away, the ghost of a smile still
lingering on his lips; but he had read the President's heart and he
felt as if he had looked into hell.
"It is a matter of opinion, Sir," said Molara at last.
"It will soon be a matter of history."
"Other tales will have to be told before," said the President, and then
with great formality, "I am obliged to you, Mr. Mayor and Gentlemen,
for representing the dangerous elements of disorder which exist among
certain classes of the people. You may rely on every precaution being
taken to prevent an outbreak. I beg you will keep me further informed.
Good morning."
The only course open appeared to be the door, and the deputation
withdrew, after Savrola had thanked the President for his audience and
had assured him that he would lose no opportunity of bringing home to
him the hostile attitude of the citizens. On the way down-stairs they
were met by Lucile, who had returned unexpectedly early from her drive.
She saw by the expression of their faces that a heated discussion had
taken place. Godoy and Renos she passed unnoticed, but she smiled
merrily at Savrola, as if to convey to him that she was uninterested by
politics and could not understand how people ever managed to get
excited about them. The smile did not deceive him; he knew too much of
her tastes and talents, but he admired her all the more for her acting.
He walked home. The interview had not been altogether unsatisfactory.
He had never hoped to convince the President; that indeed was hardly
likely; but they had expressed the views of the people, and Godoy and
Renos had already sent copies of their remarks to the newspapers, so
that the party could not complain of their leaders' inaction at such a
crisis. He thought he had frightened Molara, if indeed it were
possible to frighten such a man; at any rate he had made him angry.
When he thought of this he was glad. Why? He had always hitherto
repressed such unphilosophic and futile emotions so far as possible,
but somehow to-day he felt his dislike of the President was invested
with a darker tinge. And then his mind reverted to Lucile. What a
beautiful woman she was! How full of that instinctive knowledge of
human feelings which is the source of all true wit! Molara was a lucky
man to have such a wife. Decidedly he hated him personally, but that,
of course, was on account of his unconstitutional conduct.
When he reached his rooms, Moret was awaiting him, much excited and
evidently angry. He had written several long letters to his leader,
acquainting him with his unalterable decision to sever all connection
with him and his party; but he had torn them all up, and was now
resolved to tell him in plain words.
Savrola saw his look. "Ah, Louis," he cried, "I am glad you are here.
How good of you to come! I have just left the President; he is
recalcitrant; he will not budge an inch. I need your advice. What
course shall we adopt?"
"What has happened?" asked the young man, sulkily but curiously.
Savrola related the interview with graphic terseness. Moret listened
attentively and then said, still with great ill humour, "Physical force
is the only argument he understands. I am for raising the people."
"Perhaps you are right," said Savrola reflectively, "I am half inclined
to agree with you."
Moret argued his proposition with vigour and earnestness, and never had
his leader seemed so agreeable to the violent measures he proposed.
For half an hour they discussed the point. Savrola still appeared
unconvinced; he looked at his watch. "It is past two o'clock," he
said. "Let us lunch here and thrash the matter out."
They did so. The luncheon was excellent, and the host's arguments
became more and more convincing. At last, with the coffee, Moret
admitted that perhaps it was better to wait, and they parted with great
cordiality.