II
Around that ministerial board it would have been amusing to an impartial onlooker to see how many mouths of grave and reverend Councilors did actually open and drop chins of dismay. A gust of horror and astonishment blew round the assembly; it was a word unknown in the Jingalese Constitution; no place had been there provided for it,—it had never been done. Strictly speaking—legally speaking, that is to say—it could not be done. Kings had been deposed, exiled, their heads cut off—all without their own consent—but never without the consent of Parliament, or of some portion of it at all events. Yet nothing whatever could prevent it; for clearly on this point the King could insist; but, if he did, the Constitution would be in the melting-pot, and the consequences could not be foreseen. What right had this pelican in piety to go pecking his own breast and shedding the blood of his ancestors? Viewed in any constitutional light it was a revolutionary and bloody deed.
The Prime Minister was not slow to see its bearing on the whole political situation and on the fortunes of his ministry.
"Gentlemen," said he, "if this abdication is allowed to take effect, our plans are defeated and the Government must go."
"You mean we shall have to resign?"
"We cannot even do that; we are forestalled. Though not yet publicly announced this is an absolute abdication here and now." And then that all might hear, the Lord President proceeded to read out the terms.
"WE, John, by the Grace of God, King of Jingalo, Suzerain of Rome, Leader of the Forlorn Hope, and Crowned Head of Jerusalem, do hereby solemnly declare, avow, render, and deliver by this as Our own act, freely undertaken and accomplished for the good, welfare, comfort, and succor of the Realm of Jingalo and of its People, that now and from this day henceforward. We do utterly renounce, relinquish, and abjure all claim to rank, titles, honors, emoluments, and privileges holden by Us in virtue of Our inheritance and succession as true and rightful Sovereign Lord of the said Realm of Jingalo. And for the satisfying of Our Royal Conscience and the better safety and security of those things aforetime committed to Our trust and keeping, under the Constitution of the said Realm of Jingalo; to the preservation whereof We are bound by oath, therefore We do now pronounce, publish, and set forth, that it may be known to all, this Our Abdication, made in the 25th year of Our reign and given under Our hand and signet——"
Then came date and signature; and following these the old form of mixed German and Latin, without which no State document was complete—"Der Rex das vult."
When the reading ended there was a short pause. Here at all events, in their very ears, history was being incredibly made.
"Remarkably well drawn," observed Professor Teller, admiringly: "copied, you may be interested to learn, from the actual instrument wrung by Parliament out of King Oliver the Second under threat of torture four hundred years ago. As legal and regular a form, therefore, as it would be possible to devise."
"You mean we shall have to recognize it?"
"If we recognize anything at all."
"Gentlemen," said the Prime Minister, "it must not be recognized; it would mean for us not merely defeat but disaster. As against the Bishops we have a certain amount of popular opinion to back us; but if once it appears that dislike for our policy has driven the King into abdication, then our ruin will be immediate and irremediable. We have to recognize that during the past year his popularity has greatly increased, while our own, to say the most, is stationary."
"Yes, and he knows it!" said the Minister of the Interior, bitterly.
"I call it a treacherous and a cowardly act!" exclaimed the Secretary for War.
"He is trying to bully us!" said the Commissioner-General.
"I should say that he is succeeding," remarked Professor Teller in a dry tone. "Had we not better recognize, gentlemen, that his Majesty has made a very shrewd hit? Can we not—compromise?"
"Impossible!" asseverated the Prime Minister. "It is too late."
Professor Teller leaned back in his chair and let the discussion flow on. His attitude was noticeable; he was the only minister who was taking it sitting down.
"When does this abdication take effect?" asked one. "I mean, how long can it be kept from the press?"
"Who knows? If his Majesty has done one mad thing he may have done another."
"I must see him at once," said the Premier, "this cannot be allowed to go on."
"You will have to take a very firm tone."
"I would suggest that we all send in our portfolios."
"We have tried that once; he would not accept them now, and we have no power to make him."
"No; that is the damnable thing! That is what makes his position so strong."
"Do you think he knows?"
"Of course; why else has he done it? It's really clever; that's what I can't get over, he has done a clever thing!"
"Who can have put it into his head?"
"It is the most unjustifiable stretch of the royal prerogative that ever I heard of."
"There's no prerogative about it; it's sheer revolution and rebellion."
"An attack on the Constitution, I call it."
Thus they talked.
"Strange!" murmured Professor Teller, irritating them with his philosophic tone and his detached air,—"strange that when it threatens itself with extinction monarchy becomes powerful."
"It is no question of extinction," said the Prime Minister tetchily; "we should still have his successor to deal with; and Prince Max, I can tell you, gentlemen, is a very dark horse. You all know what happened three months ago; and now, within the last week, we have learned that he is publishing a book—a revolutionary book with his own name to it. You may take it from me that if he comes to the throne our present scheme for the evolution of the Cabinet system will be over. Anything may happen! Read his book and you will understand."
"Has any one yet seen it?"
"A privately procured copy has been shown me; it was by the merest chance we heard of it. I could only read it very hurriedly in the small hours; it had to go back where it came from."
"Is it a serious matter?"
"Perfectly appalling."
"And are you going to allow it to be published?"
"How can we prevent? It is being printed abroad."
And then spoke the Prefect of the Police, holding technical place upon the Council as Minister of Secret Service.
"Over the present edition, gentlemen, you may make your minds quite easy. I have received intelligence that last night the establishment at which it was being printed was burned to the ground."
The Premier cast a keen and confidential glance at his colleague.
"How much does that involve?" he asked.
"Only the insurance company, I should suppose."
"I meant of the book?"
"Oh! everything except the manuscript. There will be no publication this year at any rate."
"I make you my compliments," said the Prime Minister, "on the particularity and speed with which your department has become informed. That at all events gives us time."
"And meanwhile?"
"I must see the King immediately. It is no use our remaining here to discuss a situation that is not yet explained. The first thing to find out is whether this has gone any further; but I do not think his Majesty really means it as anything more than a threat."
"Had you no hint that it was coming?" inquired the Commissioner-General.
The Prime Minister was on his way to the door. "No," he said; "not a word." And then he paused, as the particular meaning of a certain carefully chosen and repeated phrase flashed on him for the first time. "He said to me yesterday—repeating what he said four months ago when we tendered our resignations—'I will no longer stand in your way.' And now I suppose we have it."
"Good Heavens!" cried the Minister of the Interior, "does he call this not standing in our way?"
The Prime Minister cast an expressive glance at his chagrined and embarrassed following—a glance of self-confidence and determination, one which still said "Depend upon me!"
But only from one of his colleagues was there any look of answering confidence, or speech confirming it.
"When you are disengaged, Chief, may I have a few moments?"
It was the Prefect who spoke, a man of few words.
Eye to eye they looked at each other for a brief spell.
The Prime Minister nodded. "Come to me in two hours' time," he said. "We shall know then where we are." And so saying he left the room.
III
In the next two days a good many things happened; but carried through in so underground and secret a fashion that it is only afterwards we shall hear of them. And so we come to the last day of all; for on the morrow Parliament closes and when that is done the King's abdication is to become an acknowledged and an accomplished fact.
It was evening. His Majesty had just given a final audience to the Prime Minister; the interview had been a painful one, and still the ground of contention remained the same. But the demeanor of the head of the Government had altered; he had tried bullying and it had failed; now in profound agitation he had implored the King for the last time to withdraw his abdication, and his Majesty had refused.
"I will close Parliament for you," he said, "since you wish it; it will be a fitting act for the conclusion of my reign. But my conscience forbids any furthering on my part of your present line of policy; and as I cannot prevent that obstacle from existing, in accordance with my promise I remove it altogether from the scene."
"But your Majesty's abdication is the greatest obstacle of all, it is a profound upheaval of the whole constitutional system; and its acceptance will involve a far, far greater expenditure of time than we are able to contemplate or to provide for. I am bound, therefore, to appeal from the letter of your Majesty's promise (which no doubt you have observed) to the spirit in which as I conceive it was made."
"When I made it, Mr. Prime Minister, I had no spirit left. Nothing remained to me but the letter of my authority, and even that was dead. I told you that I would no longer stand in your way, and I will keep my word."
"By throwing us into revolution!"
"By throwing you upon your own resources. You have been working very assiduously for single chamber government, you may now secure it in your own way."
"Your Majesty takes a course entirely without precedent."
"What?—Abdication?"
"Against the wish or consent of Parliament."
"Ah, yes," said the King, "that is precisely the difference. Abdications have, like ministerial resignations, been forced upon us—I mean on kings in the past—at very unseasonable times and in most inconsiderate ways; and we kings have had to put up with it. Mr. Prime Minister, it is your turn now; and I only hope that you may find as clean a way out of your difficulty as I had to find when four months ago you threatened me with a resignation which you knew I could not accept."
The Prime Minister's face became drawn with passion; but there was no more to be said after that. "Is that your Majesty's final word?" he inquired.
"I hope so," said the King, rising and making a formal offer of his hand.
And so the interview ended.
Left alone the King felt badly in need of comfort, for now in the hour of triumph depression had begun to enter his soul. He did not like hurting people even when he was not fond of them; and on the Prime Minister's face as he went out he had seen something like tragedy. "Is he going to cut his throat?" he wondered; but, no, it was not the look of a beaten man—rather that of a gambler prepared to make his last throw.
The King had already made his own—he had nothing more to do; and now he wanted companionship, some one to humor him with more understanding and sympathy than his own wife could supply. And it so happened that just then his only two possible comforters were away. Max had gone to the Riviera to recruit before the regular sittings of the Commission began, and Charlotte three days ago had taken that leave of absence which had been promised her; for in less than a month's time the Prince of Schnapps-Wasser would be paying his promised visit.
As he could not have the society he craved he chose solitude, and wandered out into the deepening dusk of the November garden; and there, gazing up through its now thinned foliage at the quiet and misty heavens above him, thought of steeplejacks and the death of kings, and how at the root of every great downfall in history there had probably been some poor human heart like his own, conscious of failure, longing for the kindred touch which pride of place makes so impossible. And yet he knew that he had brought himself to a better end than, with all the defects of his qualities, he could ordinarily have hoped to secure; perhaps this dramatic taking of himself off (which he felt in a way to be so out of character) would help Max to make something out of the situation startling and unexpected. But Max would have to give up the idea of marrying the Archbishop's daughter.
The quiet, dusky paths had led him to a point where high walls carefully shrouded in creepers shut off the royal stables from view. Through circular barred grilles he could hear the noise of horses champing in their stalls; and the comfortable sound drew him round to the entrance. Opening a wicket, he stood in a dimly lighted court, but the buildings surrounding it contained plenty of light, and in the harness rooms a brisk sound of furbishing went on.
Turning to the left he passed into the largest stable of all, a spacious and well-aired chamber of corridor-like proportions divided up into stalls. To right and left of him stood the famous piebald ponies, lazily munching fodder and settling down to their last sleep before the unusual exertions which would be required of them on the morrow.
But these pampered minions did not know as he did what the morrow had in store: how, for the sake of effect, they would be harnessed to a huge obsolete coach weighing a couple of tons, each clad in an elaborate costume of crimson and gold weighing by itself considerably more than a full-grown rider. To the King this presumed ignorance of theirs was a matter for envy; he knew his own part in the affair well enough; the thought of it oppressed him.
He walked down the double line—twelve in all—pausing now and then to take a closer look and judge of their condition, but keeping always at a respectful distance, for he was aware that almost without exception they were an ill-tempered crew. Contemplating the astonishing rotundity of their well-filled bodies, the spacious ease of their accommodation, the outward dignity of circumstances, and the absolute lack of freedom which conditioned their whole existence, he was struck with the resemblance between himself and them; and recalling how, with a similar sense of kinship, St. Francis had preached to the lower forms of life he too became imbued with the spirit of homily and prophecy, though it did not actually find its way into words.
"You and I, little brothers"—so might we loosely interpret the meditations of his heart—"you and I are much of a muchness, and can sing our 'Te Deum' or our 'Nunc Dimittis' in almost the same words. We are both of a carefully selected breed and of a diminished usefulness. But because of our high position we are fed and housed not merely in comfort but in luxury; and wherever we go crowds stand to gape at us and applaud when we nod our heads at them. We live always in the purlieus of palaces, and never have we known what it is to throw up our heels in a green pasture, nor in our old age are we turned out comfortably to grass—only to Nebuchadnezzar by accident came that thing, and he did not appreciate it as he should have done. Never shall we go into battle to prove that we are worth our salt, and to say 'Ha, Ha' to the fighting and the captains; nor is it allowed to us to devour the ground with our speed: whenever we attempt such a thing it is cut from under us. Little brothers, it is before all things necessary that we should behave; for being once harnessed to the royal coach, if any one of us struck work or threw out our heels we should upset many apple-carts and the machinery of the State would be dislocated. Let us thank God, therefore, that long habit and training have made us docile, and that our backs are strong enough to bear the load that is put upon them, and that if one of us goes another immediately fills his place so that he is not missed."
In a vague, unformulated way this was the homily which arose from his meditations; and if he thought at all specially of himself and present circumstances, it was merely as an insignificant exception which proved the general rule.
As he strolled back again he stopped at the door and spoke to the man in charge.
"They all seem very fit, Jacobs," said he. "They do you credit, I must say."
"Fit they are, your Majesty!" said the man, beaming with satisfied pride; "and so they ought to be, considering the trouble we've took with 'em. We've been polishing them like old pewter for days. Ah! they know what's coming; and you can see 'em just longing for it."
"Oh, they like it, do they?"
"Believe me, your Majesty, they couldn't live without it. It's in the blood—been in 'em from father to son. Why, if we didn't take 'em out to help us open and shut Parliament and things of that sort, they'd think we was mad."
This was a new point of view; the King listened to it with respectful interest, and then a fresh thought occurred to him.
"Jacobs," he said, "did one of them ever refuse to go?—on a public occasion, I mean."
"Well, yes, your Majesty, it did once happen; before my time, though. One of 'em—ah, it was at a funeral, too—he stuck his heels into the ground and couldn't be got to start, not for love or money."
"Which did they offer him?"
"Ask pardon, your Majesty?—Oh, just my manner of speaking, that was. Wouldn't go except on his own terms."
"And what were they?"
"Well, your Majesty, he was a clever one, you see, he was; they aren't generally. But he, he'd got a taste for his own set of harness—knew it by the smell, I suppose, and when they come to put it on him a bit of it broke, and he wouldn't wear anything else. That's how it all come about."
"They tried, I suppose?"
"Oh, they got it on him; and they got him out, before all the crowd, with the guns going and the handkerchiefs a-waving—Ah, no; but that was a funeral though—there weren't no handkerchiefs that day. Well, there he was; and when he felt they was all looking at him, and the perishables kept waiting behind——"
"The perishables?"
"The corpse, sir;—then he wouldn't move."
"Very embarrassing, I must say."
"You see, your Majesty, they couldn't beat him in public—not as he deserved; 'twouldn't have been respectful to what was there. They had to do that afterwards. But, believe me, he stopped the whole show for twenty minutes and more; and they never used him again."
"What became of him?"
"Oh, he was just kept, in case; but he weren't never used—he was reckoned too risky after that. Oh, and he felt it too; I haven't a doubt but he did. They don't like only to be one of the extras, they don't."
"What does that mean?"
"Why, you see, sir, there's always four extras here, in case of accident; and believe me, your Majesty, when the four extras to-morrow find 'emselves left out they'll squeal for hours, and it won't be safe to go near 'em, not for days. Blood's a wonderful thing, sir, wonderful! And they know, just as well as you or me."
"And what becomes of them when they grow old?"
"Well, sir, they make saddle-cloths of 'em for the band of the forty-ninth Hussars. Your Majesty may have reckonized 'em; most people think it's giraffe skin, but it's really our old ponies."
"So they come in useful even at the last?"
"Oh, yes, sir, they ends well, one can't deny that; and they have to be in pretty good condition too. So they aren't none of 'em what you might call really old."
"Very interesting," said the King. "What a great deal there is in the world that one doesn't know till one comes to inquire."
"About horses? Your Majesty's right there!" said the man; and his tone spoke volumes of the things which would never be written, but which those who had the care of horses knew.
As the King moved away from that brief colloquy, one phrase in particular stuck in his mind. "He was reckoned too risky after that." Was that, he wondered, what the Prime Minister was thinking about him now; had he, indeed, proved himself too risky for future use? If so there would be no yielding at the eleventh hour; and perhaps it was as well that to-morrow would see him harnessed to the royal coach for the last time.