A few moments later a lackey informed them that her Royal Highness had
finished her letters, and they went up to the private apartments of the
Archduchess. She received them in the writing-room, the first of the
suite, whose windows looked down upon Pest only. It had been panelled
and hung with blue brocade, almost as bright as the cornflower, and
the furniture and woodwork were white and silver. It was handsome and
stately and stiff.
Fessenden wandered about for a time looking at the miniatures; the
Archduchess, apparently in her most gracious mood, and somewhat amused
withal, moving beside him and giving him little biographical notes.
There was one of Maria Theresia before the flesh rolled out, and the
face and poise of head were full of young pride and indomitable will;
but this artist, like his fellows, had failed to demonstrate the
beauty with which the historian accredits her. Several of the men and
women had the terrible Hapsburg mouth, but their eyes were genial, and
they looked like kindly simple folk. Most of the Bavarians had some
degree of beauty, although the young women all wore that meekness of
expression which would seem to be the pertainment of the inconspicuous
females of reigning houses. The lovely face of Elizabeth, with its
strange and disconcerting shadow of perpetual girlhood, looked from
several of the bits of porcelain and ivory. There were two of Ranata
herself, one in haughty profile, the other with eyes cast down, but,
by cunning art, suggesting a swift uplifting of lash and a blaze
beneath. The bosom also looked about to heave, the throat to swell. The
artist evidently had caught her in some mood of self-repression and
penetrated the mask she wore so well. Fessenden studied it for a moment
in silence, then turned and looked at her sharply. Again the subtle
delight of being understood stirred in Ranata, who had yet to learn
that the truly masculine man never understands a woman, and has only
a fleeting desire to do so when anxious or uncomfortable. She colored
slightly and turned her head away. Its movement happened to be in the
direction of the door leading into the sitting-room. Fessenden’s eyes
followed here, and he gave an exclamation of rapture.
“Do I see a rocking-chair?” he exclaimed--“a rocking-chair?”
Ranata experienced the first pang of her new condition; but deep
among the complexities of her womanhood was that indulgence for man
which carries so many of her sex through the shoals of amazement,
disappointment, and weariness, into the calm waters of philosophy. To
this instinct, as much as to pride, might be attributed her ready words
and hospitable smile.
“I suppose it is many weeks now since you have seen one--unless you
have happened to notice Sarolta’s? This is Alexandra’s most cherished
possession, but I am sure she will lend it to you for a few moments.”
“Yes, indeed,” quoth Alexandra. “I will write a note here, if I may.”
Fessenden started for the rocking-chair, but branched abruptly to
the window. “Ah!” he exclaimed, “it is finer from here than from the
garden--there are too many trees there. The Margarenthen-Insel looks as
frivolous and unhistoried as any pleasure island in America, and that
downward sweep of the mountain is very like the Adirondacks.”
“Are Americans disappointed when they find the incomparable in Europe?”
demanded the Archduchess dryly. “I asked a lady of one of your
Embassies once how she liked Vienna, and she said she liked it very
much, but she did so miss her back-yard.”
Fessenden laughed heartily. “Doubtless her husband’s post was a
Christmas present from an appreciative President. You know something of
our politics, so I need not explain.”
It might be said of Ranata that she paraphrased a famous saying of
Mark Twain’s and had adopted the version as her safeguard: “When in
doubt talk politics.” She stood beside Fessenden and regarded him with
contemplative admiration. “You have done so much,” she said, as if
considering. “Why do not you give your country a new code of political
morals?”
“The pigeon-holes of my country are stuffed with codes of regeneration.
The United States must dree its weird, and suffer the penalty
of springing full grown from the brain of the old civilization.
Several things may happen, however, before she is many years older:
a revolution, which will let out the bad blood and bring what
best elements are left to the surface; a collapse of our worst
institutions through sheer rottenness; or a sudden awakening of the
public conscience. That may happen at any moment, for all our history
has proved that you can try an American so far and no farther. The
sensationalism of the press has accustomed them to almost anything,
from daily lynchings to the unblushing politics of their Presidents;
but there is always the last straw, and I await the falling of that
straw with considerable hope. I no longer remonstrate; on the contrary,
I give a helpful shove whenever I can do so unobserved--and I have my
men in Congress and State legislatures. They may not be first-class
men, but they are intelligent, and they obey my orders.”
“You are a bit of a Jesuit.”
“It is a valuable lesson I have learned in your Europe. Besides, I want
the crisis to come in my best years. Even my father could not grapple
with it now; and as this crisis was what I was born for and raised for,
you will admit that it is my duty to use every faculty and whatever
methods the peculiarities of my country demand.”
“We are not the only ones who think ourselves heaven-born,” murmured
Ranata.
“True, but your inspiration and mine spring from sources as asunder
as the poles. A fool ascends a throne, with no more than enough wit
to sign his name, with not an impulse for progression, not an idea
with which to keep his state abreast of the other great nations of
the earth, with perhaps every folly that will scuttle her unless a
revolution or Heaven intervenes; and yet there he is, half his length
above other men, braver, infinitely more intelligent men, who accept
him without protest and never forget to flatter. His masses endure him
without question, unless he push them to extremity, and often then. Can
you wonder that he believes the Almighty placed him on that throne for
some inscrutable purpose, or that his people believe it, knowing that
they would have selected almost any one else? With us a man blunders
along through square holes and round holes until he finds the one that
fits him, and then he settles down and attends to business. I had the
superior advantage of being trained for a specific purpose by one of
the most remarkable men living, and I have inherited enough of him to
make the consummation possible. I ‘found myself’ earlier than most men
do, and I have been finishing my education ever since. I know where I
stand and what I can do. My final accomplishment, of course, depends
entirely upon circumstances. My best effort now is to make myself ready
to meet any contingency whatever, and to leap swiftly to its mastery.”
Ranata turned her head and regarded him intently. “If I did not
know you so well through my intimacy with Alexandra,” she said, “I
should find it difficult to believe that patriotism with you was a
consuming passion. You have so much carelessness, boyishness, in your
manner--and--you are so practical!”
“If I tore about like a raging bull I might accomplish notoriety, but I
certainly should accomplish nothing else. And the secret of the failure
of the ‘reformers’ of the United States is that they have the ideals
and the political bosses have the sense.”
She asked irresistibly, “If it ever came to a choice between your
country and a woman, what would be the result?”
“No such question will ever arise.”
“No?”
“Certainly not. Do you think so meanly of my resources as that?”
“But circumstances are sometimes stronger than men.”
“Some men.”
Ranata had let her arm drop to her side; her hand was not an inch from
Fessenden’s. Both were acutely aware of the magnetic temptation of that
nearness; for a second all their being seemed to have surged into their
finger-tips. Fessenden’s curved rigidly inward. His brain was still in
control, and he was accustomed to play a careful and far-seeing game.
Her hand fluttered towards his; then she swung about abruptly.
“Why don’t you sit in your rocking-chair?” she asked with a nervous
laugh. “I must turn you out directly; it is nearly time to dress.”
Fessenden marched to the chair, and rocked himself for twenty minutes
with every appearance of content. Alexandra came in from the next
room, and they talked of the ball of the following night and of other
impersonal things. The peasants had come and were housed, and a
remarkable band of gypsies had been found in Transylvania. Fessenden,
who was dining in Pest, rose regretfully at seven.
He smiled down upon Ranata and shook her hand slightly. “Can I come up
here again?” he asked. “I like it much better than any other part of
the palace.”
“Perhaps,” said Ranata, smiling, but angry at the quick response within
her to the warm and personal attitude of the lordly male. “You have had
your own way too much. I think you need disciplining.”
Alexandra was retiring through the outer room. Fessenden raised the
hand he held and pressed his lips to it twice quickly. “I am humblest
of your slaves,” he said unsteadily.
“No you are not!” replied Ranata almost as unsteadily. “And I wish you
would go. I have never been late for dinner in my life.”
When she was alone she turned her eyes to the rocking-chair; then,
after a manifest effort in another direction, she moved slowly towards
it, regarded it impatiently, tenderly, then sank slowly into its
embrace and dropped her head against the cushion.