ANNE MAKES HISTORY.
In the months that followed Anne Dillon lived as near to perfect
felicity as earthly conditions permit. A countess and a lord breathed
under her roof, ate at her table, and talked prose and poetry with her
as freely as Judy Haskell. The Countess of Skibbereen and Lord
Constantine had accompanied the Ledwiths to America, after Owen's
liberation from jail, and fallen victims to the wiles of this clever
woman. Arthur might look after the insignificant Ledwiths. Anne would
have none of them. She belonged henceforth to the nobility. His lordship
was bent on utilizing his popularity with the Irish to further the cause
of the Anglo-American Alliance. As the friend who had stood by the
Fenian prisoners, not only against embittered England, but against
indifferent Livingstone, he was welcomed; and if he wanted an alliance,
or an heiress, or the freedom of the city, or anything which the Irish
could buy for him, he had only to ask in order to receive. Anne sweetly
took the responsibility off his shoulders, after he had outlined his
plans.
"Leave it all to me," said she. "You shall win the support of all these
people without turning your hand over."
"You may be sure she'll do it much better than you will," was the
opinion of the Countess, and the young man was of the same mind.
She relied chiefly on Doyle Grahame for one part of her program, but
that effervescent youth had fallen into a state of discouragement which
threatened to leave him quite useless. He shook his head to her demand
for a column in next morning's _Herald_.
"Same old story ... the Countess and you ... lovely costumes ... visits
... it won't go. The editors are wondering why there's so much of you."
"Hasn't it all been good?"
"Of course, or it would not have been printed. But there must come an
end sometime. What's your aim anyway?"
"I want a share in making history," she said slyly.
"Take a share in making mine," he answered morosely, and thereupon she
landed him.
"Oh, run away with Mona, if you're thinking of marrying."
"Thinking of it! Talking of it! That's as near as I can get to it," he
groaned. "John Everard is going to drive a desperate bargain with me. I
wrote a book, I helped to expose Edith Conyngham, I drove Fritters out
of the country with my ridicule, I shocked Bradford, and silenced
McMeeter; and I have failed to move that wretch. All I got out of my
labors was permission to sit beside Mona in her own house with her
father present."
"You humor the man too much," Anne said with a laugh. "I can twist John
Everard about my finger, only----"
"There it is," cried Grahame. "Behold it in its naked simplicity! Only!
Well, if anything short of the divine can get around, over, under,
through, or by his sweet, little 'only,' he's fit to be the next king of
Ireland. What have I not done to do away with it? Once I thought, I
hoped, that the invitation to read the poem on the landing of the
Pilgrim Fathers, coming as a climax to multitudinous services, would
surely have fetched him. Now, with the invitation in my pocket, I'm
afraid to mention it. What if he should scorn it?"
"He won't if I say the word. Give me the column to-morrow, and any time
I want it for a month or two, and I'll guarantee that John Everard will
do the right thing by you."
"You can have the column. What do you want it for?"
"The alliance, of course. I'm in the business of making history, as I
told you. Don't open your mouth quite so wide, please. There's to be a
meeting of the wise in this house, after a dinner, to express favorable
opinions about the alliance. Then in a month or two a distinguished
peer, member of the British Cabinet, is coming over to sound the great
men on the question.... What are you whistling for?"
"You've got a fine thing, Mrs. Dillon," said he. "By Jove, but I'll help
you spread this for all it's worth."
"Understand," she said, tapping the table with emphasis, "the alliance
must go through as far as we can make it go. Now, do your best. When you
go over to see John Everard next, go with a mind to kill him if he
doesn't take your offer to marry his daughter. I'll see to it that the
poem on the Pilgrims does the trick for you."
"I'd have killed him long ago, if I thought it worth the trouble," he
said.
He felt that the crisis had come for him and Mona. That charming girl,
in spite of his entreaties, of his threats to go exploring Africa,
remained as rigidly faithful to her ideas of duty as her father to his
obstinacy. She would not marry without his consent. With all his
confidence in Anne's cleverness, how could he expect her to do the
impossible? To change the unchangeable? John Everard showed no sign of
the influence which had brought Livingstone to his knees, when Grahame
and Mona stood before him, and the lover placed in her father's hands
the document of honor.
"Really, this is wonderful," said Everard, impressed to the point of
violence. "You are to compose and to read the poem on the Pilgrim
Fathers?"
"That's the prize," said Grahame severely. He might be squaring off at
this man the next moment, and could not carry his honors lightly. "And
now that it has come I want my reward. We must be married two weeks
before I read that poem, and the whole world must see and admire the
source of my inspiration."
He drew his beloved into his arms and kissed her pale cheek.
"Very well. That will be appropriate," the father said placidly,
clearing his throat to read the invitation aloud. He read pompously,
quite indifferent to the emotion of his children, proud that they were
to be prominent figures in a splendid gathering. They, beatified, pale,
unstrung by this calm acceptance of what he had opposed bitterly two
years, sat down foolishly, and listened to the pompous utterance of
pompous phrases in praise of dead heroes and a living poet. Thought and
speech failed together. If only some desperado would break in upon him
and try to kill him! if the house would take fire, or a riot begin in
the street! The old man finished his reading, congratulated the poet,
blessed the pair in the old-fashioned style, informed his wife of the
date of the wedding, and marched off to bed. After pulling at that door
for years it was maddening to have the very frame-work come out as if
cemented with butter. What an outrage to come prepared for heroic
action, and to find the enemy turned friend! Oh, admirable enchantress
was this Anne Dillon!
The enchantress, having brought Grahame into line and finally into good
humor, took up the more difficult task of muzzling her stubborn son. To
win him to the good cause, she had no hope; sufficient, if he could be
won to silence while diplomacy shaped the course of destiny.
"Better let me be on that point," Arthur said when she made her attack.
"I'm hostile only when disturbed. Lord Conny owns us for the present. I
won't say a word to shake his title. Neither will I lift my eyebrows to
help this enterprise."
"If you only will keep quiet," she suggested.
"Well, I'm trying to. I'm set against alliance with England, until we
have knocked the devil out of her, begging your pardon for my frankness.
I must speak plainly now so that we may not fall out afterwards. But
I'll be quiet. I'll not say a word to influence a soul. I'll do just as
Ledwith does."
He laughed at the light which suddenly shone in her face.
"That's a fair promise," she said smoothly, and fled before he could add
conditions.
Her aim and her methods alike remained hidden from him. He knew only
that she was leading them all by the nose to some brilliant climax of
her own devising. He was willing to be led. The climax turned out to be
a dinner. Anne had long ago discovered the secret influence of a fine
dinner on the politics of the world. The halo of a saint pales before
the golden nimbus which well-fed guests see radiating from their hostess
after dinner. A good man may possess a few robust virtues, but the
dinner-giver has them all. Therefore, the manager of the alliance
gathered about her table one memorable evening the leaders whose good
opinion and hearty support Lord Constantine valued in his task of
winning the Irish to neutrality or favor for his enterprise. Arthur
recognized the climax only when Lord Constantine, after the champagne
had sparkled in the glasses, began to explain his dream to Sullivan.
"What do you think of it?" said he.
"It sounds as harmless as a popgun, and looks like a vision. I don't see
any details in your scheme," said the blunt leader graciously.
"We can leave the details to the framers of the alliance," said His
Lordship, uneasy at Arthur's laugh. "What we want first is a large,
generous feeling in its favor, to encourage the leaders."
"Well, in general," said the Boss, "it is a good thing for all countries
to live in harmony. When they speak the same language, it's still
better. I have no feeling one way or the other. I left Ireland young,
and would hardly have remembered I'm Irish but for Livingstone. What do
you think of it, Senator?"
"An alliance with England!" cried he with contempt. "Fancy me walking
down to a district meeting with such an auctioneer's tag hanging on my
back. Why, I'd be sold out on the spot. Those people haven't forgot how
they were thrown down and thrown out of Ireland. No, sir. Leave us out
of an alliance."
"That's the popular feeling, I think," Sullivan said to His Lordship.
"I can understand the Senator's feelings," the Englishman replied
softly. "But if, before the alliance came to pass, the Irish question
should be well settled, how would that affect your attitude, Senator?"
"My attitude," replied the Senator, posing as he reflected that a
budding statesman made the inquiry, "would be entirely in your favor."
"Thank you. What more could I ask?" Lord Constantine replied with a
fierce look at Arthur. "I say myself, until the Irish get their rights,
no alliance."
"Then we are with you cordially. We want to do all we can for a man who
has been so fair to our people," the Boss remarked with the flush of
good wine in his cheek. "Champagne sentiments," murmured Arthur.
Monsignor, prompted by Anne, came to the rescue of the young nobleman.
"There would be a row, if the matter came up for discussion just now,"
he said. "Ten years hence may see a change. There's one thing in favor
of Irish ... well, call it neutrality. Speaking as a churchman,
Catholics have a happier lot in English-speaking lands than in other
countries. They have the natural opportunity to develop, they are not
hampered in speech and action as in Italy and France."
"How good of you to say so," murmured His Lordship.
"Then again," continued Monsignor, with a sly glance at Arthur, "it
seems to me inevitable that the English-speaking peoples must come into
closer communion, not merely for their own good, or for selfish aims,
but to spread among less fortunate nations their fine political
principles. There's the force, the strength, of the whole scheme. Put
poor Ireland on her feet, and I vote for an alliance."
"Truly, a Daniel come to judgment," murmured Arthur.
"It's a fine view to take of it," the Boss thought.
"Are you afraid to ask Ledwith for an opinion?" Arthur suggested.
"What's he got to do with it?" Everard snapped, unsoftened by the mellow
atmosphere of the feast.
"It is no longer a practical question with me," Owen said cheerfully. "I
have always said that if the common people of the British Isles got an
understanding of each other, and a better liking for each other, the end
of oppression would come very soon. They are kept apart by the
artificial hindrances raised by the aristocracy of birth and money. The
common people easily fraternize, if they are permitted. See them in this
country, living, working, intermarrying, side by side."
"How will that sound among the brethren?" said Arthur disappointed.
His mother flashed him a look of triumph, and Lord Constantine looked
foolishly happy.
"As the utterance of a maniac, of course. Have they ever regarded me as
sane?" he answered easily.
"And what becomes of your dream?" Arthur persisted.
"I have myself become a dream," he answered sadly. "I am passing into
the land of dreams, of shadows. My dream was Ireland; a principle that
would bring forth its own flower, fruit, and seed; not a department of
an empire. Who knows what is best in this world of change? Some day men
may realize the poet's dream:
"The parliament of man, the federation of the world."
Arthur surrendered with bad grace. He had expected from Ledwith the
last, grand, fiery denunciation which would have swept the room as a
broadside sweeps a deck, and hurled the schemes of his mother and Lord
Constantine into the sea. Sad, sad, to see how champagne can undo such a
patriot! For that matter the golden wine had undone the entire party.
Judy declared to her dying day that the alliance was toasted amid cheers
before the close of the banquet; that Lord Constantine in his delight
kissed Anne as she left the room; with many other circumstances too
improbable to find a place in a veracious history. It is a fact,
however, that the great scheme which still agitates the peoples
interested, had its success depended on the guests of Anne Dillon, would
have been adopted that night. The dinner was a real triumph.
Unfortunately, dinners do not make treaties; and, as Arthur declared,
one dinner is good enough until a better is eaten. When the member of
the British Cabinet came to sit at Anne's table, if one might say so,
the tables were turned. Birmingham instead of Monsignor played the lead;
the man whose practical temperament, financial and political influence,
could soothe and propitiate his own people and interest the moneyed men
in the alliance. It was admitted no scheme of this kind could progress
without his aid. He had been reserved for the Cabinet Minister.
No one thought much about the dinner except the hostess, who felt, as
she looked down the beautiful table, that her glory had reached its
brilliant meridian. A cabinet minister, a lord, a countess, a leading
Knickerbocker, the head of Tammany, and a few others who did not matter;
what a long distance from the famous cat-show and Mulberry Street!
Arthur also looked up the table with satisfaction. If his part in the
play had not been dumb show (by his mother's orders), he would have
quoted the famous grind of the mills of the gods. The two races, so
unequally matched at home, here faced each other on equal ground.
Birmingham knew what he had to do.
"I am sure," he said to the cabinet minister, "that in a matter so
serious you want absolute sincerity?"
"Absolute, and thank you," replied the great man.
"Then let me begin with myself. Personally I would not lift my littlest
finger to help this scheme. I might not go out of my way to hinder it,
but I am that far Irish in feeling, not to aid England so finely. For a
nation that will soon be without a friend in the world, an alliance with
us would be of immense benefit. No man of Irish blood, knowing what his
race has endured and still endures from the English, can keep his
self-respect and back the scheme."
Arthur was sorry for his lordship, who sat utterly astounded and cast
down wofully at this expression of feeling from such a man.
"The main question can be answered in this way," Birmingham continued.
"Were I willing to take part in this business, my influence with the
Irish and their descendants, whatever it may be, would not be able to
bring a corporal's guard into line in its behalf."
Lord Constantine opened his mouth, Everard snorted his contempt, but the
great man signaled silence. Birmingham paid no attention.
"In this country the Irish have learned much more than saving money and
acquiring power; they have learned the unredeemed blackness of the
injustice done them at home, just as I learned it. What would Grahame
here, Sullivan, Senator Dillon, or myself have been at this moment had
we remained in Ireland? Therefore the Irish in this country are more
bitter against the English government than their brethren at home. I am
certain that no man can rally even a minority of the Irish to the
support of the alliance. I am sure I could not. I am certain the formal
proposal of the scheme would rouse them to fiery opposition."
"Remember," Arthur whispered to Everard, raging to speak, "that the
Cabinet Minister doesn't care to hear anyone but Birmingham."
"I'm sorry for you, Conny," he whispered to his lordship, "but it's the
truth."
"Never enjoyed anything so much," said Grahame _sotto voce_, his eyes on
Everard.
"However, let us leave the Irish out of the question," the speaker went
on. "Or, better, let us suppose them favorable, and myself able to win
them over. What chance has the alliance of success? None."
"Fudge!" cried Everard, unabashed by the beautiful English stare of the
C. M.
"The measure is one-sided commercially. This country has nothing to gain
from a scheme, which would be a mine to England; therefore the moneyed
men will not touch it, will not listen to it. Their time is too
valuable. What remains? An appeal to the people on the score of
humanity, brotherhood, progress, what you please? My opinion is that the
dead weight there could not be moved. The late war and the English share
in it are too fresh in the public mind. The outlook to me is utterly
against your scheme."
"It might be objected to your view that feeling is too strong an element
of it," said the Cabinet Minister.
"Feeling has only to do with my share in the scheme," Birmingham
replied. "As an Irishman I would not further it, yet I might be glad to
see it succeed. My opinion is concerned with the actual conditions as I
see them."
With this remark the formal discussion ended. Mortified at this outcome
of his plans, Lord Constantine could not be consoled.
"As long as Livingstone is on your side, Conny," said Arthur, "you are
foredoomed."
"I am not so sure," His Lordship answered with some bitterness. "The
Chief Justice of the United States is a good friend to have."
A thrill shot through Dillon at this emphasis to a rumor hitherto too
light for printing. The present incumbent of the high office mentioned
by Lord Constantine lay dying. Livingstone coveted few places, and this
would be one. In so exalted a station he would be "enskied and sainted."
Even his proud soul would not disdain to step from the throne-room of
Windsor to the dais of the Supreme Court of his country. And to strike
him in the very moment of his triumph, to snatch away the prize, to
close his career like a broken sentence with a dash and a mark of
interrogation, to bring him home like any dead game in a bag: here would
be magnificent justice!
"Have I found thee, O mine enemy?" Arthur cried in his delight.