IN SILVER SLIPPERS.
During the three days and a half anticipated by Cyril, he and his
secretary remained under a ban, and moved about among the crowds of
_Kurgäste_ as little noticed as if they had been two invisible men,
and almost as freely as if they had had Ludwigsbad to themselves. They
were apparently unseen when, with their Bohemian glass tumblers
suspended from their buttonholes, they joined the shivering throngs
that surround in the early morning the kiosks from which the horrible
healing waters are dispensed, and partook of their respective
draughts, Cyril taking the proper eight glasses and Mansfield only
one, purely for the sake of sociability. In the promenade which
followed they met no one who was conscious of ever having seen them
before; and when they had bought the regulation rolls and sat down to
drink their coffee at a little table surrounded by scores of others,
they were not only alone but unperceived in the crowd. In the
afternoon they paid no visits and received none; and at dinner-time,
when merry parties were formed round all the restaurant-tables, they
sat down alone save for the company of the taciturn Thracian secretary
Paschics, who seemed to be given over to perpetual mourning for the
high position his employer had once held and lost. Not that their
isolated condition made their table less gay than the rest. Cyril,
always debonnaire and cheerful, exerted himself determinedly on these
occasions to bring a smile to the melancholy countenance of Paschics,
with the result that Mansfield became almost exhausted with laughing.
The waiters hovered attentively in their neighbourhood, eager to catch
a stray joke; and even the Kurdirektor, a very high and mighty
autocrat indeed, found himself tempted by the peals of laughter to
smoke a cigarette and partake of dessert in company with these victims
of popular disapproval. One evening there was a dance after dinner at
the Kursaal, and Cyril and Mansfield strolled in among the spectators,
enjoying hugely the promptness with which way was made for them, as
though they had been royal personages, or surrounded by an invisible
but tangible fence. That is to say, Cyril enjoyed the experience
frankly for its own sake, and Mansfield because he reflected that it
was in Cyril’s cause he was undergoing it. Two years of fairly
constant intercourse with Lady Philippa Mortimer had not tended to
diminish his early veneration for her adored uncle, and there was also
the further consolation for such hardship as his lot involved that she
would regard it with sympathy--even with admiration.
The evenings on which there was no dancing were equally amusing in
their way. Wandering through the shrubberies of the Königspark in the
summer twilight, Cyril found himself accosted in sheltered corners
first by one man and then by another who did not dare to dispute the
general edict in public, but thought it might be advisable to remain
friends with both sides under the rose. Naturally these people were
not of the class or character with whom friendship was most desirable,
being chiefly gentlemen who lived by their wits, with a sprinkling of
Jews who believed that the Chevalier Goldberg had bought Cyril for
their nation, and that this justified them in claiming his services
for themselves, and it was a never-ending amusement to Mansfield to
observe the adroitness with which Cyril snubbed them and dropped them
promptly back into their proper places. There was one elderly
capitalist who seemed to have been mildly coerced by the Chevalier
into giving in his adhesion to the national movement, for on three
separate occasions he pursued Cyril with a mournful persistence,
endeavouring to persuade him that, since the masters of money
throughout Europe were now for once united, it was folly to waste the
force of such a combination on the mere acquisition of Palestine, when
it might be used to establish a universal empire on a financial basis.
The contrast between the frail, cringing figure of the old man, and
his world-embracing schemes, was sufficiently ludicrous; but he stuck
to his point until Cyril asked him what the hapless Jews scattered
throughout Europe, on whom the popular fury would at once fall in case
his plan was attempted, would think of him. Then he wrung his hands
and made as though to rend his clothes, and departed sorrowful.
The three days mentioned by Cyril as the duration of the ostracism had
elapsed; but when the usual visit to the springs was paid on the
fourth morning, Mansfield noticed no change in the demeanour of the
_Kurgäste_. People still looked over, round, and through the two
Englishmen, and avoided carefully coming into the slightest personal
contact with them as they stood waiting their turn to receive the hot
and loathsome beverage. But when the unpleasant duty had been
performed, and the drinkers turned away from the kiosk and into the
promenade, the event occurred which Cyril had foreseen. Approaching
the spring was a tall grey-bearded man of military appearance, walking
with two others, who maintained their position a step behind him on
either side, and to whom he turned and spoke occasionally. In the
foreground, ranged in two lines and leaving an ample path for the
new-comer, were all the most aristocratic of the Ludwigsbad visitors,
bowing and curtseying with the deepest reverence as he reached them,
and manifestly overjoyed when they received a personal greeting.
“The Emperor of Pannonia,” whispered Cyril to Mansfield. “Watch!”
How it happened Mansfield did not clearly see, since he was doing his
best to copy the elaborate bows of the Pannonian magnates, but he was
aware that the Emperor caught sight of Cyril, beckoned him forward,
greeted him warmly, and requested him to turn and walk with him a
short distance. Standing rather in the background, Mansfield was able
to perceive and appreciate the expressions of astonishment and chagrin
which chased one another over the countenances of the crowd that
attended the Emperor, but he had little time to reflect upon their
discomfiture, for a sign from Cyril warned him to fall into line with
the two equerries, so that he could no longer observe the results of
the Imperial condescension on the Emperor’s subjects. As for Cyril, he
knew the reason of this friendly address, and had anticipated it. A
Court scandal of a peculiarly unpleasant character had just been
averted by means of the ready help of the Chevalier Goldberg. Not for
the first time an archducal household had been established with the
aid of the Chevalier’s money, and a secret threatening the honour of
the Imperial house and the happiness of a young bride was safely
locked up in the Chevalier’s breast. The Emperor was duly grateful,
and having been informed of the connection between the Chevalier and
Cyril, was doing honour to the one man by way of gratifying the other.
He had, moreover, something to say also to Cyril himself.
“This Palestine scheme of yours, Count--I am glad to have the
opportunity of speaking to you about it. Is there any prospect of your
being successful?”
“I see no insuperable difficulty in our way at present, sir.”
“Well, I only hope you may succeed--as far as possible, that is--for
there is no chance of getting rid of the whole body of Jews. The fewer
that remain in Europe the more business will there be for those few,
and I should fear that the emigrants will all come flocking back when
they see how things are going. Still, you may relieve us of the lowest
class of Jew for a time, at any rate, and that will do something to
simplify our heart-breaking problems here. But before I can commend
your scheme unreservedly, Count, I must be satisfied on one point of
the utmost importance. You are aware that I number among my titles
that of King of Jerusalem, and that two at least of my brother
monarchs claim the right to do the same. We are hereditary guardians
of the Holy Places, and you must see that it would not only be
abhorrent to ourselves personally, but absolutely impossible, in view
of the sentiment of Christendom, to place them in the power of the
Jews.”
“That has been clearly foreseen, sir. It was the intention of the
board whom I represent to request the Powers to nominate a Christian
governor, who should make the Holy Places his chief care.”
“You make no suggestion as to the person to be nominated, Count?” The
Emperor turned a keen glance upon Cyril.
“None, sir. It is obvious that the Prince to be chosen must be a man
of liberal views, or he would fail to obtain the suffrages of all the
Powers, but that is the only suggestion we could venture to offer. I
suppose the governor would maintain order, as at present, by the aid
of a Moslem guard; but it would be necessary to allow the Jews free
access to the spots which they consider holy, and which they are now
debarred from approaching. That proviso can hardly fail to commend
itself to your Majesty as fair, I think?”
“It is only natural, and would affect no one but the Roumis, I
imagine. Well, Count, you have relieved my mind. It will not surprise
you to hear that urgent representations against your scheme have been
made to me from several quarters, and without this very equitable
proposal of yours I should have been forced to fall in with the views
they expressed. Now, however, I am able to say that in my opinion you
offer adequate protection for Christianity and the Holy Places, and I
shall act accordingly. You are taking the waters here, I believe? I am
glad to know you are at hand, in case I wish to consult you again on
this subject.”
Thus graciously dismissed, Cyril mingled again with the crowd--a crowd
that was now as anxious to propitiate as it had hitherto been to
ignore him. During the next five minutes, three men, one of whom was
the arbiter of fashion, asked him to dinner that night, and the
Countess von Hohenthurm vouchsafed him the honour of carrying the
paper bag containing her breakfast-roll. Tactless people complained of
their bad eyesight, or lamented that they had not heard Count Mortimer
was at the baths until this morning, but the tactful simply took up
their acquaintance with him at the point where they had dropped it
three days before. Cyril met their overtures in the same spirit, and
his sole piece of revenge was to tell his entertainers at breakfast
all the news of the last three days, as though they had only just
arrived--a piece of pleasantry which brought to Mansfield’s face a
passing gleam of satisfaction. Cyril took him to task for his lowering
brow as they returned to the hotel, and told him that when the
Countess von Hohenthurm was so condescending as to show an interest in
a young man, it behoved that young man to be grateful, and to look it.
“They are all a set of sycophants!” returned Mansfield sharply. “How
you can make friends of them again, I can’t imagine.”
“I don’t make friends of them, but they are fellow-members of society,
and it would serve no good purpose to quarrel with them. If I was in
their place, I should have acted precisely as they have done.”
“You won’t get me to believe that!” said Mansfield, with an air of
mild reproof which Cyril found irresistibly comic.
“Why, how would you have had me mark my sense of their behaviour?” he
asked.
“I don’t see how you can meet them again with any cordiality. Why not
decline the honour of their further acquaintance?”
“Because we live in the great world, and not in Arcadia. You young
people brought up virtuously in England have something terribly stagey
about you. You are all for great _coups_, but that sort of thing
doesn’t do in ordinary life. You remind me very much of my brother
Caerleon as a young fellow. I don’t think I was ever so ineffably
young myself. I hope not, at any rate. Melodrama is not good form.”
Much crushed by these remarks, which he received as a rebuke,
Mansfield remained silent, and Cyril, observing this, administered a
restorative as they entered the hotel.
“Never mind. I prefer you as you are. A little melodrama in private is
rather amusing than otherwise, and in society you are a model of
discretion, except as regards your looks. Those you must learn to
control a little, but don’t think that I want you not to tell me what
you think.”
He spoke rather absently, for the post had come in while they were
out, and the table in his room was covered with letters and
newspapers. He began at once to open the letters, while Mansfield
turned to the papers and began his daily task of looking through them
in search of any reference to the United Nation scheme.
“There is a very hostile article in this Scythian paper, Count,” he
said after a time, looking round.
“Ah! what paper?”
“The ‘Pavelsburg Gazette.’”
“Good! then it’s inspired. Give me a rough translation, please.”
Mansfield was now accustomed to requests of this kind, and went
through the article as rapidly as his somewhat imperfect knowledge of
Scythian permitted. The writer was absolutely appalled by the news
which had come from Czarigrad by way of England, and called upon all
Christians to rise and prevent the proposed transfer of Palestine to
Jewish hands. So sacrilegious an outrage could not be allowed to
proceed, and it was the glorious privilege of the Emperor of Scythia,
as head of the Orthodox Church and protector of the Holy Places, to
prevent it. There was not a Scythian that would not give his life
freely in such a cause, and the sooner the necessary steps were taken
the better. It might be well even to proclaim a crusade, and end the
Jewish difficulty at one blow by sweeping the whole of the accursed
race from the earth.
“Very pretty!” said Cyril, “and evidently meant to prepare the way for
effective action. Scythia has already sounded the other Powers, no
doubt; I thought as much from what the Emperor said to me just now.
Well, I have put a spoke in her wheel, I fancy. When she finds there
is nothing to be done in that direction, she will proceed to push
matters to extremities at Czarigrad, and then comes the tug of war.”
“But can you hope to put sufficient backbone into the Grand Seignior
to enable Roum to stand up against her?” asked Mansfield, surprised by
the confident tone.
“No, that would be beyond the wit of man, but I intend to put a little
gentle pressure on Scythia instead.”
“Would it spoil your plans if you told me how you intend to do it? I
can’t imagine how you will manage.”
Cyril smiled pleasantly. “There is a famine in Scythia at this
moment,” he said; “so much you know already. You know also that it
must be pretty bad for the Scythian papers to be allowed to
acknowledge its existence at all. There is also a rising in Central
Asia that looks threatening. The sufferers from the famine must be
helped, and the rising must be put down, but where is the money to
come from? Such hoards as the peasantry may have amassed in good years
are exhausted by this time, and there are no Jews left in the rural
districts to borrow from. The Government will have to step in, but
though the war-chest is full, its contents must be kept intact in view
of a possible European war, and there is very little money in the
country otherwise. To improve matters, certain shrewd gentlemen in
America have arranged a corner in cereals, with a special eye to this
famine and the consequent demand. Now do you see where we come in,
when it becomes evident that there is no money to be obtained in all
Europe if our scheme is thwarted at Czarigrad?”
“You mean to starve them out?” said Mansfield, with more than a touch
of horror in his tone.
“By no means. We take our pound of flesh, which is Palestine, that’s
all.”
“What a queer-looking old chap that is over there, Count!” said
Mansfield to Cyril, as they were taking their walk one morning about a
week after the Emperor’s arrival. “He might be a stage brigand.”
Cyril glanced in the direction he indicated. “Why, that is my
venerable friend Prince Mirkovics!” he cried. “Who would ever have
dreamt of meeting him here? I thought he never left Thracia.”
He crossed the promenade with a rapid step, and accosted the old man
whose truculent air and fierce white moustache had attracted
Mansfield’s attention. The garb of civilisation sat awkwardly upon
Prince Mirkovics, and it was obvious that he felt ill at ease without
the pistols and dagger which adorned his girdle when in Thracian
costume; but the scornful frown with which he had been contemplating
the vanities of Ludwigsbad vanished when he caught sight of Cyril,
whom he greeted with beaming smiles.
“I will join you in your walk, Count, if you will allow me,” he said,
when Mansfield had been duly introduced to him. “I have a good deal to
tell you.”
“Two years’ Thracian news!” said Cyril lightly. “I have avoided
hearing or reading anything of the kind, on principle, since I left
Thracia, but I felt all the time that it was only accumulating, to
overwhelm me some day.”
“His Excellency loves to jest,” remarked Prince Mirkovics solemnly to
Mansfield. “Perhaps,” he added, turning again to Cyril, “you are not
even aware that his Majesty intends to visit Ludwigsbad? I believe he
was to arrive to-day.”
“What, King Michael?” cried Cyril. “No, I had not heard it. Why, Mr
Mansfield, how is this? It’s your business to keep me posted up in the
names of the expected arrivals. Oh, is that it?” as Mansfield began a
stammering defence; “you thought it might call up unpleasant memories,
and therefore you left me to meet him unawares? I am not quite so
sensitive as that, you know, and you needn’t be so very anxious to
spare my feelings.”
“The Princess of Dardania is naturally coming as well,” continued
Prince Mirkovics.
“Surely not? Why, her husband has only been dead for ten or twelve
months. She is far too clever to outrage propriety by coming to such a
place as this so soon.”
“She does not dare to stay away, Count. The quarrel with her eldest
son has forced her to quit Dardania, and the coolness which came to a
head before that between herself and her elder daughter closes Mœsia
to her. Thracia is her only hope, for if King Michael should break his
promise to marry the Princess Ludmilla, she would be discredited on
all sides.”
Cyril’s eyes flashed ominously. “Then her Nemesis has overtaken her
already?” he said.
“It has, Count, at least so far as regards the marriage project which
threw you out of office. Her Royal Highness is a clever woman, but she
has so much at stake in this affair that she has failed to show her
customary tact. She has kept too tight a hand over young Michael, made
the chain by which she has bound him to her daughter too evident, and
if he could muster sufficient courage, he would break it. He slipped
away from Thracia without her knowledge, well aware that she would
oppose his coming here, and she, her daughter, and her household, are
following him promptly. But everything will be done with propriety, my
dear Count. She has borrowed the Grand-Duke Eugen’s villa, and will
receive none but relations.”
“Still, the proceeding sounds a little undignified,” said Cyril drily.
“So much the better, Count, provided it fails. That woman is the curse
of Thracia. Since you left us she has filled the Ministry, the army,
and the civil service with Scythian sympathisers--for Drakovics, in
his second childhood, is nothing but her tool--with the result that we
are now bankrupt in all but name.”
“Bankrupt? and I left the treasury full!”
“Bankrupt. Such changes cost money, Count, both for rewarding friends
and bribing foes. The King, again--he is a young gentleman of taste,
and must spend liberally on his pleasures. The increase of the
army--we could approve of that, for he is Otto Georg’s son, and should
be a born soldier. The beautifying of the capital and the construction
of needless public works--well, it provides employment for the
proletariat, and no doubt he has inherited his mother’s charitable
disposition. But when it comes to squandering money upon theatres and
pictures, and subsidising musicians and dubious foreigners of all
sorts--then, Count, we remember that he is the grandson of Luitpold of
Weldart, and we tremble.”
“And does the Princess approve of these artistic pleasures?”
“By no means, Count; but she cannot persuade his Majesty to relinquish
them, and since his mother left Thracia there is no one else who can
even pretend to influence him.”
“But what a shameful thing for the Queen to leave Thracia when she had
allowed her son to bring all this trouble upon the kingdom!” broke in
Mansfield, who had imbibed from Lady Philippa an inveterate dislike of
the woman whom she regarded as her uncle’s evil genius. “What has she
done with herself?”
“Young man,” said Prince Mirkovics severely, “her Majesty was deeply
affected by the unhappy events which drove Count Mortimer from
Thracia. Her uncontrollable grief reflected so severely upon her son
and the Princess of Dardania, that they proposed to place her in
seclusion, alleging that she suffered from delusions. Warned in time,
the Queen succeeded in escaping from the kingdom, accompanied by
several faithful members of her household. From Czarigrad, where she
took refuge, she made terms with her son, who agreed to pay her
jointure without protest if she withdrew altogether from politics in
future. Her Majesty then retired to a community of Protestant nuns on
Mount Lebanon, where she occupies herself in good works and in
bewailing the past. My daughter is one of those who share her exile,
gladly devoting their lives to the service of their unfortunate
mistress. Count Mortimer knows that I disliked the Queen’s being
appointed regent, but nothing can excuse King Michael’s conduct to his
mother.”
Cyril had remained silent while Prince Mirkovics spoke. His face was
very pale, and it was with evident difficulty that he said--
“Have you no remedy to propose for the state of things in Thracia,
Prince?”
“I have; but it is a drastic one. You wonder, perhaps, to see me here?
Do you know that I am on my way home from England--I who have never
left Thracia before? I visited your brother, to inquire whether there
was any hope of his returning to the throne in this extremity.”
“My dear Prince!”
“How are we better off than when we were under the house of Franza,
Count? Your brother came to our help then, but he refuses now.”
“And quite right, too. Accepting the offer of a vacant throne is a
very different thing from annexing an occupied one.”
“Well, Count, we turn to you. Will you return to Thracia as Prime
Minister? The country is on our side, and we propose to set before the
King the alternatives of accepting you as Premier or as Regent. The
Constitution makes provision for such an appointment in case of the
incurable extravagance or deliberate viciousness of the monarch.”
“Pray speak lower, Prince. You are talking treason, and in Ludwigsbad
the very rocks have ears. No; I cannot come. I have other work on
hand.”
“You are doing something for the Jews. Oh, throw them over.”
“Not in favour of Thracia, at any rate. Thracia had me once, and
resigned me with quite unnecessary willingness. Now she may want me,
but she can’t have me. The punishment is deserved.”
“But for our sakes, Count--your friends?”
“No, Prince, I am not up to it. I gave the best part of my life to
building up a workable and fairly honest system of government, and two
years have been enough to reduce it to chaos. I could not submit to
the years of weary office drudgery over again. New work I can take up
and carry through; but I have lost the patience and elasticity I used
to possess, and I will not fail where I succeeded once.”