III
Nobody looked at the Prime Minister's face just then; for the moment he had been beaten, though the person who appeared least aware of it was the King.
But, of course, it was for the moment only. And when at a later hour of the day, with mind made resolute, the Prime Minister sought his promised interview, the monarch was no longer at an advantage. Dialectically he could not meet and match his opponent, and he had no longer that subtle advantage which presidency at a board of ministers confers. Speaking as man to man the head of the Government did not feel bound to observe that tradition of half-servile approach which in the hearing of others fetters the mouths of ministers.
The Jubilee celebrations were now over, the Parliamentary vacation approached; and what before had been mere talk and threat could now be put into instant action. And so when he had given the King his run, and listened to the royal obstinacy in all its varying phrases of repetition, contradiction, reproach, till it reached its final stage of blank immobility, he formally tendered the Ministry's resignation.
The King sat and thought for a while, for now it was clear that one way or the other he must make up his mind. All those strings of red tape, which he had meant to tie with such dilatory cunning hung loose in his grasp; to a Cabinet really set on resignation he could not apply them. Just as his hands had seemed full of power they became empty again. He knew that at the present moment no other ministry was possible, and that a general election was more likely to accentuate than to solve his difficulties; and so in sober chagrin he sat and thought, and the Prime Minister (as he noticed) was so sure of his power that he did not even trouble to watch the process of the royal hesitation resolving itself.
When after an appreciable time the King spoke he seemed to have arrived nowhere.
"This is the fifth time," he said, "that you have offered me resignation: and you know that I am still unable to accept it."
The Prime Minister bowed his head; he knew it very well, there was no need for words.
"And you know that I am still entirely unconvinced."
"For that," said the minister, "I must take blame; since it shows that my advocacy in so strong a case has been very imperfect."
"Oh, not at all," said the King. "I think you have shown even more than your accustomed ability."
"That is a compliment which—if it may be permitted—I can certainly return to your Majesty."
"I have felt very strongly upon this matter," said the King.
"We all do, sir—one way or the other. With great questions that is inevitable."
"You admit it is a great question?"
"I should never have so troubled your Majesty were it a small one."
The King's thoughts shifted.
"What a pity it is," said he, "that I and my ministers have never been friends."
"Have not loyal service and humble duty some claim to be so regarded?" inquired the Prime Minister. But the King let this official veneer of the facts pass unregarded.
"It would have helped things," he went on. "As it is, when I differ from my ministers I am all alone. It is in moments of difficulty like this that the head of the State realizes his weakness."
"There again, sir, you do yourself an injustice."
"Ah, that is easily said. But what does my power amount to when all is done? Perhaps at the cost of constant friction with my ministers I have been able to delay things for a while—given the country more time to make up its mind; but then, unfortunately, it was thinking of other things, and I myself provided the counter attraction. What I was trying to do in one way I was rendering of no effect in another; all that I intended politically has been swamped in ceremony."
"Your Majesty was never more popular than to-day," observed the Prime Minister. "That in itself is a power."
The King paused to consider; then he said, "If I am prepared eventually to give way, what time of grace can you allow me?"
"We must have our bill ready for the winter session, sir."
"Will you allow me till then?"
"If I may know what is in your Majesty's mind."
"What is in my mind is that the country should know what it is about. This bill has not yet been seen; by the public nothing is known of it. Well, that is what I ask: put it before the country, let the terms of it be clearly stated, and if, when we come to the winter session, you are still determined that it must form part of your program, then,"—the King drew himself up and took a breath—"then I will no longer stand in your way."
The Prime Minister bowed low to conceal his proud sense of triumph.
"I have your Majesty's word for that?"
"To-day is the 27th," said the King, "you can claim the fulfilment of that promise in four months' time."
"And till then?"
"Till then," said the King slowly, "this question is not again to come before Council. I hold to my point that its introduction without my express consent was unconstitutional, and to maintain the Constitution I am bound by oath."
The Prime Minister yielded the point readily, seeing in it the effort of dull obstinacy to score a nominal triumph. "There is, however, the accompanying condition," said he, "necessary for the success of our scheme; and to that I must once more refer. In order to pass our bill we shall need the consecration of at least fifty new Bishops, nominated by the Government; to that, also, your Majesty has hitherto been opposed."
"Oh, you mean the Free Churchmen?" queried the King. "Ah, yes, and the Archimandrite."
"In that matter," replied the Prime Minister, "I have some reason to believe that the Bishops will eventually give way."
The King felt himself a little more alone. "Yes," he said, "I daresay they will; I shouldn't wonder at all."
"Then over that, too, I may look for your Majesty's consent?"
The King repeated his former word. "I shall not stand in your way," he said; and again the Prime Minister bowed low.
"I have to thank your Majesty for relieving me of a great difficulty."
"Oh, no, why should you? You have not persuaded me in the least; you have merely forced me to a certain course, in which I still cannot pretend that I agree."
"I shall always recognize that your Majesty has acted on the highest motives, both in opposing and in ceasing to oppose."
"I shall ask you to remember that," said the King.
"There shall never be any misunderstanding on my part," replied the minister; and applying a palm to the hand graciously extended as though its mere touch had power to heal, he took his leave, and the fateful audience was over.
For a long time after, the King stood looking at the door out of which he had gone.
"I think there has been a misunderstanding, though," he said to himself, with a slow, faint smile, "and I don't think it is mine——" He paused. "Perhaps, though, I had better write down exactly what I said." And going to his desk he made there and then a careful memorandum of his words.
He read them over, and once again he smiled. He was still quite contented with what he had done. "And I wonder," he said to himself, "what Max would say if he knew?"
There was a great surprise waiting for Max, and well might the King wonder what that interesting young man would make of it. Yes, it was just as well that Max should not know anything about it beforehand; Max might run away.