Read Ebook: A Crowned Queen: The Romance of a Minister of State by Grier Sydney C

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Ebook has 2799 lines and 168992 words, and 56 pages

"No?" asked Cyril, with a note of concern in his voice. "And yet such sudden lapses of memory as this are a bad sign, surely?" and he met M. Drakovics's frown with a gaze of bland unconsciousness.

"Allow me to remind you, Count," said the Premier severely, "that you have not now his late Majesty to deal with. Wit and humour--even the most brilliant jokes--are wasted upon me."

"But not in this case, when the jokes are your own?" was the prompt reply. "Surely you can't imagine that I should venture to joke with you?"

M. Drakovics gave up the attempt at concealment. "I will not deny," he said slowly, "that my mind has been much exercised of late by certain remarks which fell from Prince Soudaroff when he paid me his farewell visit."

"Ah, now we are coming to it!" said Cyril to himself. A good deal of comment had been excited in the political world by the fact that the Emperor of Scythia had selected as his representative at the funeral of King Otto Georg a diplomatist of such European celebrity as Prince Soudaroff, and the opinion had been freely expressed that some change of policy was in the air. "Were the Prince's remarks of a reassuring character?" he asked aloud.

"Very much so, on one condition. Prince Soudaroff emphasised the goodwill by which his master was actuated towards Thracia, and mentioned, casually, that that goodwill might be testified in a substantial form if only an Orthodox prince sat on the Thracian throne."

"So that's it, is it? Very pretty, of course; but it can't be done."

"That is your opinion, then?"

"Most certainly it is, if you mean to ask me whether the Queen will ever consent to King Michael's conversion to the Orthodox faith."

"And yet," pursued M. Drakovics, "why should it be impossible? A change which would be humiliating or even disgraceful in the case of a grown-up man, such as our late King, or--or your brother, would be quite simple and natural in the case of a child. He knows nothing as yet of religion, and it means merely that he would be brought up in one form of faith instead of another. Popa instead of pastor, that is all."

"I do not intend to broach the matter to her unless I can do so with some prospect of success. What is your opinion?"

"That you will see her Majesty shaking the dust of Thracia from her feet, and retiring to Germany with her son, before she will compromise his spiritual welfare by such a step."

"You forget that I am a member of the Orthodox Church, Count."

"True, monsieur. I had forgotten that you were anything but a statesman."

"You flatter me. But consider the enormous advantages to be gained by the sacrifice. The cost is ludicrously small. Could we not convince her Majesty by means of an object-lesson?"

"We will start nearer home, I think. An excellent impression would be produced by your reception into the Orthodox Church, my dear Count."

"And what sort of impression on the Queen?" was Cyril's mental comment. "This is a little dodge to get me shunted out of your way, my good Drakovics." Aloud he replied, "You do me too much honour, monsieur; I really cannot pretend to be a personage of so much importance as you kindly hint. Besides, my creed is too valuable for me to sacrifice it merely as an object-lesson. Who knows whether I may not be able to barter it for a crown some day?"

M. Drakovics bit his bushy grey moustache angrily, for the hit galled him. "We will turn to considerations of policy rather than of commerce, Count, if you please. Surely you cannot be blind to the advantages of such an event as the King's conversion?"

"I see that you would be exhibited to all Europe as implicitly following the dictation of Scythia, if that's what you're aiming at."

"Not at all," said the Premier quickly. "To have a king of their own faith is the great desire of the Thracians. They would rally round the throne to an extraordinary degree if the conversion took place. It would be simply and wholly in response to their wishes, and the Queen would gain enormously in popularity."

"Quite so," said Cyril. "Explain that to Pannonia and Hercynia, and see how they will look at it. Sigismund of Hercynia might be brought to acquiesce if he were allowed to exhibit his powers as a theologian by conducting the conversion himself, but otherwise he is more likely to preach a crusade against you. Do you really believe that they would not see the finger of Scythia in the event?"

"And Queen Ernestine would pose as a Christian martyr for the benefit of all Europe. She would take her stand on the marriage settlement, as she has every right to do, and all the men with the faintest spark of chivalry about them, and all women with children of their own, would adopt her cause." He spoke strongly, with a vivid recollection of the picture which he persuaded himself had been devised for his benefit. "Statecraft is a good thing, my dear Drakovics, but sentiment occasionally goes one better."

"You are right; I give up the plan. For a week I have been trying to find a way of working it out, but I feared it would prove insuperable. Happily I had not adopted it as one of my measures."

"Or you would have felt bound to carry it out by fair means or foul? You broached it to no one, I suppose?"

"To no one. I disregarded studiously Prince Soudaroff's remarks during our interview, in order to gain time for thought."

"Ah, he expected that, of course. He may be trusted to have said nothing to any one else, you think?"

"He paid private visits to no one but the Metropolitan, besides myself, and he would scarcely enter upon the subject with him."

"I wish we could be sure of that, for the Metropolitan is just the sort of weak man to be persuaded into believing that he has a mission to bring the conversion about. However, it's quite certain that we can't arrest him on suspicion, although I shouldn't wonder if we have to do it after he has preached to-morrow. It would be his business to try to stir the people's curiosity by vague hints, and he is fanatic enough to rejoice in running the risk. One would do one's best to secure his silence beforehand, if one didn't know that it would be the safest way of setting him talking. If only Prince Soudaroff had been a Catholic or a Mohammedan, and had not paid him more than a formal visit!"

"One could prohibit the Metropolitan from preaching to-morrow."

"And convince him that there's something in the wind if Prince Soudaroff said nothing to him, and give him a glorious handle against us if he has been tampered with. He is yearning already for an opportunity of denouncing us as oppressors of the Church, and I believe he and his clergy are the hottest pro-Scythians in Thracia."

"Then you would do nothing?"

"Far from it. Hope for the best, and keep the police ready for action."

And with this shameless parody of the Puritan leader's charge to his troops Cyril took his leave. The misgivings which assailed him caused him to take a very unusual step on the morrow, which happened to be the festival of a holy man of local celebrity, known as St Gabriel of Tatarj?. St Gabriel was supposed to have been martyred by the Roumis about the end of the fourteenth century , and the traditions of the country required that on the anniversary of his death the Metropolitan should preach a sermon in his honour at the cathedral of Bellaviste. On this occasion Cyril was one of those who attended the service. He had no wish to obtrude his presence on the Thracian portion of the congregation, and as a good many foreigners, either tourists or members of the various legations, had seized the opportunity of witnessing informally the solemn pageantry of the Greek saint's-day celebration, he was able to obtain a place behind one of the pillars without attracting attention. The earlier portion of the service passed off quietly; but when the Metropolitan began his sermon Cyril perceived at once that his fears had been only too well founded. Without the slightest attempt at disguise the preacher went straight to the point, denouncing the royal house as heretics, and M. Drakovics as their supporter, with great vigour. Through the Premier it had come about that Thracia had accepted a monarch and a code of laws from the ungodly and schismatical nations of the West, instead of finding a peaceful shelter under the protecting wings of the great Orthodox Empire, at whose head stood the heir of the Eastern Caesars. It was a just retribution that the late King had been removed in his prime, and the kingdom left as the battle-ground of the western heretics. Another opportunity was providentially granted to the Thracians by reason of the youth of their present sovereign, and it was not too late to accept with gratitude the overtures of peace newly made to them by the long-suffering head of their faith. What did the Queen's inevitable objections signify? Her son did not belong to her, but to Thracia. She was a German--a Jewess--who had filled the Court and the city with her creatures, and had set herself deliberately to frustrate the hopes of the nation from the day of her first entrance into Thracia. Was she to be allowed to come between the kingdom and its manifest destiny, the fulfilment of its burning desire for reunion with the race to which it really belonged, and to which it owed its freedom? Let her be given the choice between preserving her heresy and her son's throne. If she was obdurate, she must be set aside and another regent appointed, with the concurrence of the Orthodox Emperor, who would see that the King was brought up in the true faith.

Cyril dared not delay longer. The conclusion of the sermon would no doubt be interesting, but to wait for it would mean that there would be no hope of anticipating its effect on the crowded congregation, belonging chiefly to the peasant and artisan classes, which filled the cathedral. Holding his handkerchief to his face, both as a disguise and as an excuse for departing, he slipped from his place and made his way to the door. Once outside the cathedral, he thought for a moment of the possibility of bringing up a sufficient force of police to overawe the congregation as they came out, and ensure their dispersing quietly. But the idea was negatived as soon as it arose, for the police-barracks were on the other side of the town, and it might cause a fatal loss of time to go thither, or even to turn aside and telephone to the chief of police. The Palace was Cyril's charge, and until the Palace was safe, he could not think of anything else. Even before he had brought his train of reasoning to this conclusion, he was climbing the steep street which led to the Palace, and only just in time, for, turning as he entered the gate, he saw the congregation beginning to pour out of the cathedral. It was the work of a moment to call out the guard and close the gates, and then Cyril hurried to his office in order to telephone to the barracks a request for a strong force of police, and to M. Drakovics the news of the situation. He had little fear that any mob would be able to break into the Palace before the arrival of the police, for the guards were all drawn from the famous Carlino regiment, the best in the Thracian army, to which this honour had been committed since the disbandment of the untrustworthy Palace Guard of earlier years. It could not be doubted that with the advantages of position and discipline they would be able to keep the mob at bay at the gates; but the extent of wall to be defended was so large, and so easily to be scaled by one man climbing on the shoulders of another, that to avoid any risk from isolated intruders he sent a message to the Queen by M. Stefanovics, entreating her to remain with the King in her own apartments for the present.

No sooner had the message been sent than Cyril, from his commanding position at the head of the great flight of steps leading to the door of the Palace, caught sight of the advance-guard of an excited crowd debouching from the street he had just traversed. He could see the mob pressing up to the iron gates and shaking them in vain efforts to enter, then brandishing sticks and fists at the guards, and demanding with imprecations that the gates should be opened. Loud shouts were raised for the Queen and the little King, but not by any means as demonstrations of loyalty. Rather they were frantic demands that the Queen should at once yield to the wishes of her subjects, and agree to the King's conversion, on pain either of being separated from him, or driven from Thracia with him. Cyril congratulated himself on his foresight in keeping the inmates of the Palace from coming in contact with the rioters, but it was not long before he became aware that he had rejoiced too soon. Hearing Stefanovics coming back, he turned to speak to him, and perceived to his dismay that the chamberlain was escorting Queen Ernestine, who held the little King by the hand, while a lady-in-waiting followed.

"I do not understand your message, Count," said the Queen, pausing as Cyril confronted her. "My son's subjects are anxious to see him on their festival-day, and you take it upon yourself to exclude them from the Palace. Have the goodness to throw open the gates and admit the people, so that the King may receive their loyal congratulations from the steps."

"Allow me to entreat you, madame, to return to your apartments with his Majesty," said Cyril. "This gathering is not what you think."

She looked at him with disdainful displeasure. "Do you think I am deaf?" she asked scornfully. "They are crying, 'The King! the Queen! let us see the Queen!' You are afraid that this demonstration may embarrass M. Drakovics and his Government, and therefore you try to prevent the people from seeing their King."

"If your Majesty is not deaf, and will listen for a moment," said Cyril, exasperated, "you will find that the shouts are by no means of a gratifying nature. Does that, for instance, commend itself to you, madame?" as a long-drawn howl of execration forced itself on the Queen's reluctant ears, making her start and turn pale.

"It is a riot? they are in revolt?" she asked, with trembling lips. "What is the reason?"

"They have just been excited by an inflammatory sermon from the Metropolitan on the subject of their religion, madame. It is possible that your Majesty can guess the direction their thoughts have taken."

"They threaten my son's faith? Never! Admit the insolents immediately, Count. They shall hear my answer from my own lips. With my child in my arms I will defy them."

"Pardon me, madame; the mob of Bellaviste has not even the chivalry of that of Paris, and--you are not a Marie Antoinette. At the risk of incurring your displeasure, I must decline to obey you in this."

He uttered the last sentence in a lowered voice, to avoid the appearance of wishing to humiliate her in the hearing of Stefanovics. For a moment her angry eyes looked defiantly into his, then they fell.

"I am a prisoner in my own Palace, it seems!" she said wrathfully. "When your wife returns from the cathedral, M. Stefanovics, be so good as to send her to me immediately. I must know all about this affair."

And she turned her back on Cyril, and retired.

"There come the police at last!" said Stefanovics.

The mob had been dispersed by the police, and Cyril found himself able to breathe freely once more. The Metropolitan, arrested by the order of M. Drakovics as soon as the news of the sermon and the consequent outbreak had reached him, was under police supervision in his own palace, and bodies of cavalry were patrolling the streets. The Queen had not shown herself outside her own apartments after the rude awakening she had experienced, but Cyril was kept informed by Stefanovics of all that passed behind the closed doors. It seemed that Madame Stefanovics, on her return from the service, had been required to relate to her royal mistress all that she could remember of the sermon, and that her powers of accuracy and memory were stimulated by a severe cross-examination. The Princess of Weldart was much moved, the lady-in-waiting told her husband, who passed on the fact promptly to Cyril, but the Queen was almost out of her mind. She walked up and down the room in feverish excitement and anger, and broke at last into a flood of passionate tears. Now that her feelings had found this relief, she was more calm, and had spent the afternoon closeted with her secretary, who was kept hard at work drafting and writing letters. This piece of information served in a measure to reassure Cyril.

"She will work it off in that way," he said to himself. "Writing letters and drawing up proclamations will keep her busy without doing any harm. To-morrow she will be cooler, and we can think about business."

He remained at the Palace during the whole of the afternoon and evening, expecting to be summoned to assist the Queen in her labours, or at any rate to receive some communication from her relating to the punishment of the rioters who had been arrested. He would not have objected to this. It would be unconstitutional, no doubt, but it might keep her from doing anything worse. As time passed on, and no summons reached him, he became a little uneasy as to what this continued silence might portend; but on hearing from Stefanovics that the Queen appeared much calmer and even happier after her long afternoon's work, he felt it safe to retire to his own house, which stood just outside the Palace grounds. As he passed out of the gate, and the guards presented arms, he noticed a man slinking through in the shadow, and recognised the Queen's secretary, a young German. It was late for any one employed at the Palace to be going out, and the uncharitable conclusion at which Cyril arrived instantly was that the secretary was on his way to join some disreputable associates in the town. There was a half-furtive, half-triumphant look about him which seemed to accord with this suspicion, and as the Minister of the Household walked home he indulged in a little moralising on the ease with which young men fall into mischief when away from the control of their parents and guardians. His mind was sufficiently at ease to allow of this, for although earlier in the day he had been conscious of some curiosity, and even a slight degree of apprehension, as to the effect the events of the morning were likely to have on his own position in the Court, he had no intention of allowing himself to be worried by unnecessary fears, and after wrestling with the intricacies of the Palace accounts for an hour or two, went to bed and slept peacefully. At an unwonted hour in the morning, however, he was awakened in a sufficiently startling way.

"Excellency, his Excellency the Premier!" panted Dietrich, throwing the bedroom door open, and as it were flinging the announcement into the room. Apparently he had only managed to keep ahead of the visitor by climbing the stairs at a record pace, for M. Drakovics was inside the door before the words were out of his mouth.

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