HIS ILLYRIAN MAJESTY FERDINAND THE TWELTFH
His Majesty had not arrived, and the dinner was spoiling.
"No news of the King?" I asked, keeping well in the background, for I
had no wish for Mrs. Arbuthnot to observe my condition prematurely.
"Nevil said in his telegram that he would be here about a quarter past
seven, and it is now five minutes past nine," said Mrs. Arbuthnot
tearfully.
"Five-and-twenty minutes to nine, _mon enfant_, according to
Greenwich," said I, as reassuringly as the circumstances permitted.
"Your clock is wrong by half an hour. But there has been a bad
accident at Blankhampton. Would they come by Blankhampton? If they
did, that would be bound to delay them."
"Oh dear!" said Mrs. Arbuthnot. "If anything has happened to the King!
And oh, Sonia dear, how late you are!" she added reproachfully. "I was
getting so horribly nervous about you. And you not here to present me
or anything! But now you've come it is all right. Just be a dear and
have a look at the table before you go up to dress."
The Princess, however, had scarcely had time to yield to Mrs.
Arbuthnot's suggestion, and I was in the act of walking upstairs in a
state of uncomfortable anxiety in regard to the operation of changing
my clothes, when from the vicinity of the hall door there came the
sounds of fresh arrivals. I hurried to it, to be greeted immediately
by the voice of Fitz.
"Rather late," he said with that air of languor which afflicted him on
great occasions. "Line blocked at Blankhampton. Devil of a smash.
Tiresome cross-country journey, but we've turned up at last."
"Safe and sound, I hope?"
"Right as rain."
As we walked together down the front steps to the open door of the car
that stood at the bottom in the darkness, I was conscious that my pulse
was a thought too rapid for a tacit subscriber to the theory of
democracy. I held the door while an enormous figure of a man
disengaged himself slowly, and not without difficulty, from the
interior.
I made a somewhat lower bow than the Englishman in general permits
himself. A smiling and subtle visage, at once handsome and venerable,
was promptly turned upon me, and I found myself exchanging a cordial
and powerful grip of the hand.
Ferdinand the Twelfth ascended the front steps in the charge of his
son-in-law, while I held the door for the second occupant of the car to
alight. I made an obeisance only a shade less in depth than the one I
had bestowed upon the Sovereign. Baron von Schalk was small and
dapper, with a face full of intelligence and not unlike that of a bird
of prey. As we exchanged bows, it seemed that every line of it, and
there were many, was eloquent of power.
"I hope the journey has not tired his Majesty?" I ventured to say. "It
must have been very tedious."
Baron von Schalk smiled passively, made a deep guttural noise and
answered in very tolerable English, "On the contrary, most interesting.
The King never tires himself."
At the top of the steps, framed in a glow of soft light from within,
were Mrs. Arbuthnot and the Princess. Standing side by side, they
appeared to be vying with one another in the depth and grace of their
curtseys. No sooner had the King ascended to them than he took a hand
of each in his own and led them into the hall, as though they had been
a pair of his small grandchildren. There was a spontaneity about the
action which was charming.
Half an hour later we were assembled in the drawing-room. The King
promptly offered his arm to his hostess, and led the way in the
direction of her unfortunate meal. His daughter placed her hand very
lightly upon the arm of the Chancellor, directing an arch look over her
shoulder at me as she did so, as if she would say, "There is no help
for it!"
Fitz and I, walking side by side, brought up the rear of the
procession. The Man of Destiny had a very fell visage.
"What have you done to your arm?" he asked.
"Got smashed up in a taxi this afternoon."
"Where?"
"Oxford Street, I believe."
"What were you doing there?"
"The Princess had important business in town, and I went with her."
"Important business in town! She never said a word to me about it.
Was she in the accident too?"
"Yes, but luckily she didn't get a scratch. And of course this is only
a slight superficial wound."
The slight superficial wound did its best to contradict me by throbbing
vilely.
Ferdinand the Twelfth sat on the right of his hostess, his Chancellor
on her left. It is the due, I think, of our recent and temporarily
imported culinary artist, lately in the service of a nobleman, to say
that he had done extremely well in trying circumstances. There is no
sauce like hunger, of course, but it was observed that the King ate
heartily, and, although verging upon the statutory term of human life,
seemed not one penny the worse for his long and trying journey.
He spoke English with an agreeable fluency. Not only did he know this
country very well indeed, but we gathered that he was accustomed to
find it pleasant. Seen across a dinner-table it was clear that his
portraits had not in the least exaggerated his natural picturesqueness.
It was a noble, leonine head, a thing of power and virility, framed
with a mane of white hair. His eyes were heavy-lidded, but deep-seeing
and almost uncomfortably direct and penetrating in their gaze; yet
where one might have expected calculation and cold detachment there was
an impenetrable veil of kindliness which served to obscure the
elemental forces which must have lurked beneath.
There were tomatoes among the _hors-d'oeuvres_, and there were tomatoes
in the soup. When the Victor of Rodova made a significant departure
from the custom of our land by smacking his lips and astonishing the
impassive Parkins by saying, "Make my compliments to de _chef_ upon his
_consommé_; I will haf more," his hostess hoisted the ensign of the
rose, and her Royal Highness beamed upon her.
"There, Irene! what did I not tell you, my child?" she exclaimed
triumphantly.
"Oliver has a devil of a twist upon him, evidently," murmured the
son-in-law of Ferdinand the Twelfth, in an aside to his host of such
deplorable banality that an apology is offered for its appearance in
these pages. "I wish it would choke the old swine."
"On the contrary, he seems a quite kindly and paternal old gentleman."
"Ha, you don't know him!"
I admitted that I did not and that I looked forward to our better
acquaintance.
The hostess and her humble coadjutor in the things of this life felt it
to be a supreme moment in the progress of the feast when the royal lips
were brought to the brink of the paternal madeira which had reached us
so opportunely, if so illicitly, from Doughty Bridge, Yorks. But our
suspense was resolved at once. The Victor of Rodova raised his glass
to his hostess with the most benignant glance in the world, and for the
second time Mrs. Arbuthnot hoisted the ensign of the rose.
Certainly the royal expansion had a charm that was all its own. Being
called for the first time to my present exalted plane of social
intercourse, I had had no opportunity of observing anything quite like
it, other than in the manners of Fitz and his wife which had proved
such a scandal to our neighbourhood. But the Victor of Rodova was so
spontaneous in his actions and so unstudied in his gestures, and he
appeared to wear his heart on his sleeve with such a childlike
facility, that to one nurtured in our insular mode of self-repression
it was as good as a play to be in his company.
One thing was clear. From the first it was plain that Mrs. Arbuthnot
had achieved a great personal triumph. And in the particular
circumstances of the case I am constrained to append the courtier-like
phrase, "nor was it to be wondered at." Speaking out of a moderately
full knowledge of the subject in all its chameleon-like range of
vicissitude, from grave to gay, from lively to severe, in gowns by
Worth, in frocks by Paquin, in costumes by Redfern, in nondescript
creations by "the woman who makes things for Mama," I had never seen
the subject in question keyed up to quite this degree of allure. Mrs.
Arbuthnot was magnificent.
The King beamed upon her and she beamed upon the King. More than once
he pledged her in the paternal madeira; and before the modest feast had
run its course Fitz gave me a stealthy kick on the shin.
"Tell her to keep her door locked to-night," he said in one of his
sinister asides.
The bluntness of the words was most uncomfortable, but there was no
reason to doubt their sincerity. It was a piece of advice at which one
so incorrigibly _bourgeois_ as its recipient might have taken offence.
That he did not do so should be counted to him, upon due reflection, as
the expression of some remote strain of a more azure tint!
"I know the King's majesty only too well," said the son-in-law of
Ferdinand the Twelfth.
When the ladies had left us, the King talked in the friendliest manner
and always with that engaging simplicity that was so unstudied and so
charming. He was curious to know what I had done to my arm, and when I
told him he inquired minutely as to the nature of the wound, and gave
me advice as to its treatment. This piece of consideration recalled
the magazine article I had lately studied. Here seemed a practical
illustration of the fact that in a literal sense he was the father of
his people.
"You must show it to me to-morrow," he said. "And I will give you some
ointment I always carry, made by my own chemist to my own prescription.
Schalk laughs at my chemistry, but that's because he's jealous. I will
apply it for you, and in three days you will see the difference. What
are you laughing at, Schalk?"
"A man may laugh at his thoughts, sir, may he not?" said Schalk, with a
dour smile.
"Not in the presence of the little father, Schalk, unless he shares
them with the little father. What are you laughing at? But there,
since you bungled that treaty with the wily Teuton your thoughts are
not of much consequence. You know I don't care a doit for your
thoughts, Schalk, since you went to Berlin. The thoughts of Schalk,
forsooth! The wine is with you, you rascal. Remember that in England
it is not considered to be good breeding to get drunk before your King."
"In Illyria, sir, that is always held to be impossible," said Schalk.
Ferdinand the Twelfth indulged in a guffaw.
"Good for you, impious one! Nay, fill up your glass before you pass
it, and keep out your long nose, else our English friends will think we
have no manners in Illyria."
When it pleases a monarch to unbend, the laughter his sallies evoke may
seem overmuch for his wit. But it is an excellent custom to laugh
heartily at the humour of kings. Ferdinand the Twelfth, in spite of
his long journey, was in a very gracious mood and indulged us with many
sallies at the expense of his Chancellor. Baron von Schalk, however,
was well able to defend himself. It must be allowed, I think, that the
royal wit was neither very refined nor very courteous. Rough and
primitive, it had something of a Gargantuan savour. But his own
deep-voiced appreciation of it was a perpetual feast. He also told one
or two stories of a true Rabelaisian cast. They were told with an
immense gusto, and he led the laughter himself with a whole-heartedness
which was quite Homeric. Before the bottle the Victor of Rodova was
magnificent company. It was impossible not to respond to his
unaffected, if extremely catholic, good-humour.
When we joined the ladies we found them playing a game of patience.
The Father of his People immediately carried a chair to the side of
Mrs. Arbuthnot, sat beside her and offered pertinent help in the
arrangement of her cards. "But this game is only fit for people like
Schalk," he declared. "Britch is the game we play in Illyria."
Interpreting such a remark as being in the nature of a command, the
hostess swept her cards together, and imperiously ordered her spouse to
get the bridge markers.
"How shall we play, sir?" said Mrs. Arbuthnot.
"Togezzer, madame, you and I," said the King, with an air of homage,
"_if_ you please. I can see you play well."
"Oh, sir!" said Madame, for the third time hoisting the ensign of the
rose. "How can you possibly know that?"
"Infallible signs, milady," said the King, laughing. "Trust an old
soldier to read the signs. First, your ears, if I may say so. They
have shape and position, just like my own. That means a well-balanced
mind. And that dainty head, _c'est magnifique_! What intellect behind
that forehead! Now give me your hand--the left one."
Milady gave the King a much bejewelled paw.
"Ouf!" said he, "what ambition! You will never hesitate to call _sans
atout_. The heart-line is very good, also. There will be no other
partner for Ferdinand. Schalk can have whom he pleases."
It pleased Baron von Schalk to choose her Royal Highness, and a very
interesting game began.
"We must take care, milady," said Ferdinand the Twelfth, "we simple
children of nature. I expect they will cheat us horribly. Schalk has
very little in the way of a conscience, and nothing delights Sonia so
much as to overreach a confiding parent."
As he spoke it pleased this simple child of nature to revoke in a very
flagrant and palpable manner.
"No diamonds, partner?" said Mrs. Arbuthnot.
"None whatever," said the King, blandly. "I think a small deuce will
take that trick, eh, Schalk?"
"So it appears, sir," said the long-suffering Chancellor.
I was led aside by the son-in-law of Ferdinand the Twelfth.
"If you watch this game, old son," said he, "you will gain an insight
into the monarchical basis of the constitution of Illyria. Let us
watch what the plausible old ruffian does with the nine of diamonds."
Happily the game was not being played for money. But it was
characteristic of the Illyrian ruler, that in even the simple matter of
a game at cards he was incapable of conducting it other than in a
manner peculiarly his own.