THE PRINCE SEEKS DIVERSION
In spite of his protestations and the confident manner he assumed when
with the Prince, Pachmann was, as a matter of fact, exceedingly
disturbed. It was true that for an individual as humble as Ignace Vard
to hope to stand against the might of the German Empire was absurd in
the extreme; but perhaps Vard was not alone. Perhaps back of him there
was some person or some power at which even Germany would pause.
Two incidents had been distinctly disquieting: the wireless from Lepine
and the assault on Schroeder. The thing which filled Pachmann with
dismay was not so much these incidents themselves as the degree of
knowledge they indicated. Why did Lepine think Vard was on the boat? How
had he connected the inventor with the disaster at Toulon? How had the
person who assaulted Schroeder known of the conference in the Captain's
cabin? How much had he heard of that conference? What use would he make
of what he had heard? In a word, did France suspect what had happened to
_La Liberte_, and, if so, how much did she know?
A hundred times Pachmann asked himself these questions, and a hundred
times tried to find some answer to them other than the obvious answer.
He tried to persuade himself that Lepine had not connected Vard with the
Toulon disaster, but was searching for him for some other reason; he
tried to make himself believe that the assault on Schroeder was merely
the result of a seaman's quarrel; he told himself over and over again
that France could _not_ suspect, that it was impossible she should
suspect. But he could not convince himself. Always he came back to the
obvious fact that, if Vard was wanted at all, it could only be for the
affair at Toulon, and that the man who had taken Schroeder's place at
the door of the Captain's cabin could only have done so because he
wanted to hear what was passing on the other side of it.
Always, with sinking heart, Pachmann came back to this point; and at
such moments he wondered whether, after all, the Emperor would not do
well to lay aside his personal ambition, to consent to Vard's proposal
and assume the leadership of this great world-movement, in all good
faith. Surely that would be glory enough! Better, as Vard had said, to
lead than to follow; better to stand proudly forth at the head of the
movement than to be whipped into place in the rear. What humiliation!
And suppose Vard should manage to escape; suppose he should really get
into touch with France! Pachmann, closing his eyes, could see a great
fortress leaping into the air; could hear the thunder of the explosion
which destroyed a dreadnought! It was a dangerous game he was playing,
and yet, to accede to Vard's proposal meant the loss of Alsace-Lorraine,
meant the eventual abasement of the Hohenzollerns, the rise of
socialism. No, he could not consent; he had not the power to consent; he
had his instructions, precise and clear, from the Emperor himself. At
any cost, that power must be his, and his alone!
At any cost! Pachmann drew a deep breath. He knew now what the cost must
be. Well, when the moment came, he should not hesitate!
Sunday morning found Pachmann beside the assistant purser in the library
of the second-cabin, beginning the inquiry there. It was even more
drastic than it had been in the first, and the victims emerged from it
heated, angry, and with the fixed determination never again to travel by
a German boat. Neither the Captain nor the purser could vouch for any of
the undistinguished people here, and so each one of them was most
thoroughly examined. Even those with passports did not escape. Pachmann
examined all such documents minutely, compared the written description
point by point with the appearance of the passenger, and asked many
questions to satisfy himself that the person presenting it was really
the one to whom it belonged. Yet, in spite of all this, passenger after
passenger came through the ordeal successfully.
As the list was called alphabetically, it was soon the turn of M.
Chevrial. He approached the table with confidence, produced his
passport, and sat down to await such questions as might be asked him.
Pachmann glanced at the Frenchman and his eyes narrowed with anger, for
this impudent person appeared to be amused at the proceedings! Then he
picked up the passport and studied it carefully. It had been issued by
the French government two months previously, as a renewal of a former
passport, to Andre Chevrial, wine-merchant, of 18 Rue des Chantiers,
Paris; whose appearance and physical characteristics were described in
detail. Pachmann compared the items of the description point by point
with the man who sat smiling so shamelessly before him, answering the
purser's questions in an ironical voice. The very fact that the man was
so typically French and so plainly amused created in Pachmann's mind a
flair of suspicion which dilated his nostrils and narrowed his eyes. But
the passport was in perfect order, and Chevrial's answers came without
hesitation.
"You are a wine-merchant?"
"Yes."
"How long have you been in that business?"
"More years than I care to remember."
"That is not an answer."
"Let us say twenty years, then."
"Always at Paris?"
"The time before that did not count."
"Then you have not been always at Paris?"
"Heavens, no! First at Bordeaux; but for ten years at Paris."
"You are well-known there?"
"Ask my neighbours in the Rue des Chantiers; or cross the street to the
wine-market and ask any one there if he knows Andre Chevrial! Well
known? But yes!"
"Is this your first visit to America?"
"Oh, no; nor my second. But it is my first trip on a boat of Germany,
and will be my last. On the French boats, my compatriots know me. They
do not annoy me with all these questions."
It was Pachmann who asked the next one.
"How does it happen that you travel this time by a German boat?"
Chevrial shrugged his shoulders.
"Because there was no French one. It is necessary that I be in New York
on Wednesday. There was no other boat that would arrive in time. Had
there been, I would have taken it."
"So you do not like German boats?"
"I like nothing German," said Chevrial, calmly. "Least of all, this
inquisition, which, it seems to me, demands some explanation."
"It is for the immigration bureau," the purser hastened to explain. "The
American laws are very strict."
"The laws do not concern me. I am not an immigrant. I am merely one who
goes on business and who returns. My papers are in order, are they not?"
The purser was forced to confess that they were.
"Then," said Chevrial, returning them to his pocket, "if there are any
further questions to be answered, I will wait until I get to the pier at
New York to answer them. I shall at least have the pleasure of talking
to an American!" and he got up and left the library.
Pachmann was furious; but he had no excuse for holding the fellow, nor
for examining his baggage. In search of such excuse, he despatched a
wireless to the agent of his government at Brussels, directing him to
secure at once all the information available about Andre Chevrial, 18
Rue des Chantiers, Paris; and that evening a very polite gentleman
called at the house in question. It was a tall, hideous house, with a
cabaret on the first floor. To its proprietor the visitor addressed
himself. But yes, the proprietor knew M. Chevrial, a merchant of wine,
who had honoured his house for many years by occupying an apartment on
the third floor. His present whereabouts? Ah, the proprietor could not
say; M. Chevrial made many journeys in the interests of his business; he
was absent at the present time. It was the season of his annual trip to
America; perhaps he was now on his way thither. He had left no address;
but if monsieur wished to write a letter, it would be sent forward as
soon as an address was received.
The visitor declined to write a letter, but left his card--or, at least,
a card--to be given to M. Chevrial upon his return. Then he took his
leave. And the proprietor stuck the card in the frame of the clouded
mirror back of the bar, chuckling to himself.
A report of all which Pachmann duly received by radio next day.
* * * * *
The Prince, meanwhile, was finding the voyage wearisome. He was not a
difficult person to amuse, and he was very expert in the art of killing
time; he had done little else since he emerged from the nursery; but
here on shipboard he possessed none of the implements with which he
usually carried on that slaughter. He could sit in the smoking-room with
a tall stein before him, he could stroll about the deck and stare at the
sea, which he did not care for; but there was no one to talk to. His
subjects of conversation were limited, and all of them were associated
more or less with his princely character; here, where, for the first
time in his life, he found himself divested of that princely character,
he was completely at a loss. The trouble was that he had no sense of
humour. So he found it impossible to gossip with plebeian unknowns, or
engage in card-games with irreverent middle-class artisans and drummers.
He could not even carry on a flirtation with any of the pretty girls! He
had attempted it with one of them; but, after a very few minutes, she
had left him with her chin in the air, and an exclamation which sounded
singularly like "Beast!" What is gallantry in a Prince, is impertinence
or worse in a less-privileged person!
Remember, our Prince was merely a good-natured, thick-headed, young man,
who had always been compelled to take himself seriously, whose life had
been ordered for him from day to day to its minutest detail; who had
never been called upon to use his wits in earnest. There had always been
some one to do his thinking for him; there had always been the routine
of drill and study to fill a certain portion of every day; and there had
always been the fearful delight of escaping from his father's eye and
roaming the streets of Berlin in quest of adventure. But here on
shipboard, the day was twenty-four empty hours long, and even Pachmann
had deserted him, to spend his time asking the passengers interminable
questions, whose purpose the Prince could not in the least understand.
So, on this Sunday morning, having attended the services in the
dining-saloon for want of something else to do, and kept awake with
great difficulty, having smoked innumerable cigarettes, having snubbed
an American whose manner was distinctly fresh, having tramped up and
down the decks, and looked into the library to find Pachmann still
asking questions, questions, the Prince made a sudden daring resolution,
walked quickly forward, ascended to the first-class promenade, and
looked about for Ignace Vard. With the inventor, at least, he need wear
no disguise, and he simply must talk to somebody. Besides, the
inventor's talk gave him a good feeling at the heart--the feeling that
he might really some day do something worth while! Pachmann would
disapprove, of course; but who was Pachmann? A younger son of the
inferior nobility! He must remind Pachmann of that, some day, for he
seemed to have forgotten it since the Emperor had taken him up!
He found the object of his search leaning against the rail, far forward,
staring ahead at the path the ship was taking. Vard greeted him with
evident pleasure.
"You have come to arrange for the final conference?" he asked.
The Prince shook his head.
"I know no more of that than you," he said.
"But I was assured that your decision would be made at once. My plans
depend upon your answer. This is Sunday. On Tuesday we reach New York."
"I know nothing," repeated the Prince. "I have not spoken with the
Admiral to-day--indeed, I have scarcely spoken to him for three days. On
Friday and Saturday and again to-day, he has spent every moment in an
examination of the passengers."
"Why does he do that?" asked Vard quickly.
"I do not know."
Vard glanced at the Prince, and his face softened a little.
"So you have been left to amuse yourself," he said, "and, not succeeding
very well, have come to me? Is that it?"
"Yes," said the Prince; "I must talk to some one, and I find that I
cannot talk with people who do not know who I am. The men offend me, the
women I offend."
This time there was genuine friendliness in Vard's face.
"Poor fellow!" he laughed. "Well, I have never acted as court jester,
but I am willing to try. Come with me."
He led the way back along the deck and opened a door.
"This is my room," he said. "Come in. You should feel more at home here
than I do, for it is an imperial suite."
The Prince assented gravely, entered, and the inventor, his eyes
dancing, closed the door.
"Sit down," he said. "You may smoke," and he proceeded to roll himself a
cigarette. "This is your first visit to America? Yes? The first thing
you will notice is that not many Americans smoke cigarettes. Until quite
recently, the cigarette was believed to be in some mysterious way
debauching; no one but degenerates were supposed to use them. Even yet
that is the prevailing opinion outside a few of the large cities."
"Most curious," commented the Prince, and blew a smoke-ring toward the
ceiling.
"Outside of New York, which is fairly cosmopolitan, there is the same
prejudice against wine or beer, or any fermented or distilled spirit. No
public man, no teacher in a public school or university, no physician,
no professional man--no man, in a word, who depends upon public opinion,
public approval, for a livelihood--would dare sit at a table on the
sidewalk and drink a glass of beer or a liqueur. He might do it once,
and escape with the reputation of an eccentric; but to do it twice would
be to brand himself as not trustworthy."
"Astonishing!" said the Prince. "Do you speak seriously?"
"Very seriously. Some of the states have even enacted laws that no
alcoholic beverage of any kind may be sold within their borders."
"But," stammered the Prince, staring, "do you call that liberty? No
country of Europe would dare enact such a law!"
"No; it is not liberty; it is government by the majority. The wonderful
thing, the astonishing thing, the inspiring thing about it is that in
this, and in all other questions, the minority accepts its defeat
without grumbling and makes the best of it. That is the great lesson
which the United States has for the remainder of the world. And, to
preserve itself, it need keep no class in subjection, need draft no man
for service in its armies--for it is a government founded on the consent
of the governed."
He was silent a moment, considering, perhaps, how to use most wisely
this opportunity.
"Let us apply that principle to the other countries of the world," he
went on, at last. "Let us suppose that the people of each country were
asked to choose freely for themselves their form of government. How many
of the present governments would stand that test? Do you think the
government of Germany would?"
"No," said the Prince; "I suppose not. Our people are all socialists, so
my father says. But they are not fit to govern."
"Whose fault is that? Have you tried to make them fit? Besides, their
fitness or unfitness has nothing to do with it. It is their country; let
them grow fit by experience. But I believe they _are_ fit. How many of
your great men have come from humble life?"
"Oh, a great many, I dare say!" answered the Prince, impatiently. "But a
body needs a head. It must be governed by a head, not by a stomach!"
"Ah," said Vard, "but, as a matter of fact, every body is governed by
its stomach. Not till the stomach is satisfied does the head get a
chance. And, to govern wisely, the head must be a part of the body, not
something distinct from it. How is it to govern wisely, if it is not
always in close touch with the body, aware of its every need? It is only
when the head is distinct from the body that it lets the body starve and
wastes its substance on vain and unnecessary things."
"I suppose," said the Prince with a smile, "that you refer to our army
and navy."
"To the army and navy of every nation. Could the people choose, how many
battleships would Germany build next year?"
The Prince shrugged his shoulders helplessly.
"How can I answer such questions? I do not know. But I do know that I
have been born in a certain position, and that I must maintain it."
"Why?" Vard demanded.
"For the sake of my honour, and the honour of my house," answered the
Prince, simply.
"Honour!" cried Vard. "What do Princes know of honour? Is it honourable
to live on the sweat and suffering of others, and to make them no
return? Is it honourable to be supported by the toil of women and
children, whose men you have taken for your army? Is it honourable...."
He stopped suddenly, for the door had opened and a girl came in. She
stared first at one man and then at the other, evidently astonished by
the few words she had heard. Then she turned to withdraw. But Vard
stopped her.
"Don't go, my dear," he said. "Allow me to present you to a Prince of
the House of Hohenzollern! Prince, this is my daughter, Kasia."