I
But the Prime Minister, though he lost no time, was unable to catch his quarry. Prince Max had gone out; and his secretary could give no information as to his whereabouts. "His Highness told me that he had a very important engagement; he did not say with whom." To apprehensive ears that phrase sounded ominous; and fearing what risks delay might entail the Premier drove down to Sheepcote Precincts, the archiepiscopal residence; and there for three mortal hours he and the Archbishop sat with heads together (yet intellectually very much apart) discussing what was to be done.
It was during those three hours that his Grace of Ebury performed his most brilliant feat of statesmanship, and redeemed that local off-shoot of the Church of Christ over which he ruled from the political slough whereinto it had fallen. To him solely—by means of his daughter, that is to say (but in politics women do not count)—is due the fact that the Church of Jingalo still stands on its old established footing, and that her Bishops have a decisive modicum of political power left to them.
The Archbishop was, in his heart of hearts—that last infirmity of his noble mind—quite as much horrified at the news as the Premier had been. But scarcely were the dread tidings out of the minister's mouth when, perceiving his opportunity, he rose to it as a fish rises to a fly, and pretended with all due solemnity to be rather pleased than otherwise. Though his daughter's elevation to princely rank and to the prospect of future sovereignty would assuredly seal his political doom, he professed presently to see in it a fresh stepping-stone to influence and power, or, as he conscientiously phrased it, to "opportunities for good." His approach to this point, however, was gradual and circuitous.
"Of course it is a great honor," he began, deliberately weighing the proposition in earthly scales, and seeming not wholly to reject it.
"That goes without saying," replied the Prime Minister, "and hardly needs to be discussed. Our sure point of agreement is that it must not be."
His Grace lifted his grizzled eyebrows in courteous interrogation, and beginning delicately to disentangle the gold strings of his pince-nez from the pectoral cross to which like a penitent it clung, said, "Of course I perfectly understand how great a shock this has been to you. To me also it comes as an entire surprise: my daughter has told me nothing, and therefore—in a sense—I can say nothing till I have seen her."
"You have influence with her, I suppose?" said the Premier.
"Oh, undoubtedly."
"I am confident, then, that your Grace will use it to the right end."
"It has never been my habit, I trust, to neglect my parental responsibilities," replied his Grace.
"I was thinking, rather, of your responsibilities to the State."
"Those, too, I shall have in mind. There is also the Church."
The Prime Minister was puzzled.
"This matter does not seem to impress your Grace quite as it does me. I should have thought there could be no two opinions about it."
"That was too much to hope, surely? Our points of view are so very different."
The Premier felt that plain dealing had become necessary. "It would make quite untenable your position as leader of a party," he remarked grimly.
"I was not concerned about myself," replied his Grace with wonderful sweetness. "As for that, I am growing old."
"But surely you agree that the thing is wholly impossible?"
"Impossible is a strong word."
"That it would profoundly alter the constitutional status of the Crown?"
"Possibly. I think not."
This slow weighing of cons in the balance was having a devastating effect upon the minister's nerves; he got upon his feet.
"Does your Grace mean to tell me that this thing is even conceivable?"
"Conceivable? I wish you would state to me, without any fear of offense, the whole body of your objection. I recognize, of course, that the Royal House, in the direct line, has made no such alliance for over two hundred years,—never, in fact, since it ceased to be of pure native extraction. I also admit that for myself as a party politician (if you impose upon me that term) it is inconvenient, destructive even to certain plans which I had formed. But putting myself altogether aside, and allowing that for a precedent we have to go very far back into the past, what real objections have you to urge?"
The Prime Minister was beginning to get thoroughly uncomfortable.
"It is a breach—a fatal breach to my mind," said he, "in that caste distinction which alone makes monarchy possible under modern conditions. I mean no personal disrespect to your Grace: were it a question of my own daughter, I should take the same view. It disturbs a tradition which has worked well and for safety, and has not been broken for hundreds of years. But most destructively of all it threatens that aloofness from all political entanglements—that absolute impartiality between party and party—which to-day constitutes the strength of the Crown."
"I might be quite prepared," said the Archbishop slowly, "in such an event, to withdraw myself from all political action of a party character."
"You cannot so separate yourself from the past," objected the Prime Minister.
"I do not see the difficulty. You yourself, in a long and varied career, have twice changed your party, or deserted it. If that can be done with sincerity, it is equally possible to become of no party at all."
The Prime Minister flushed at this attack on his past record, and struck back—
"Not for an Archbishop," he said, a little sneeringly. "The Church now-a-days has become not merely a part of our political system, but a stereotyped adjunct of party, and a very one-sided one at that."
"To answer such a charge adequately," replied his Grace, "I should be forced into political debate foreign to our present discussion. What concerns me here and now is that something has taken place—pregnant for good or ill—which you regard as impossible, and which I do not. In either case—whatever conclusion is reached—I am called upon to make a sacrifice. Of that I do not complain, but what I am bound to consider, even before the interests of the State (upon which we take different views), are the interests of the Church. When we last met you were preparing to do those interests something of an injustice: and your more recent proposals do not induce me to think that you have changed your mind. If the Church is to lose the ground she now holds in the State she must seek to recover it elsewhere. I cannot blind my eyes to the fact that, in the high position now offered to her, my daughter will be able to do a great work—for the Church."
"I believed that you had no sympathy with the intrusion of women into the domain of politics."
"Not into politics, no; but the Church is different. We have in our Saints' Calendar women—queens some of them—who were ready to lay down their lives for the Church, and to secure her recognition by heathen peoples and kings. Why should not my daughter be one?"
He spoke with an exalted air, his hand resting upon his cross.
"Your Grace," said the Prime Minister in a changed tone, "may I put one very crucial question? Have you a complete influence over your daughter?"
"That I can hardly answer; I will only say that she is dutiful. Never, so far as I am aware, has she questioned my authority, nor has she combated my judgment in any matter where it was my duty to decide for her what was right."
On this showing she seemed a very estimable and trustworthy young person; and with a sense of encouragement the Prime Minister went on—
"Then upon this question of her marriage with the Prince, would she, do you think, be guided by you?"
"She would not marry him without my consent."
"And your consent might be forthcoming?"
"Under certain circumstances, I think—yes."
"And as the circumstances stand now at this moment?"
The Archbishop paused, and looked long at the Prime Minister before answering.
"How do they stand?" he inquired.