CHAPTER XVII. — AN “HONOURABLE” STATESMAN
It is not easy to trace the causes why it so often happens that semi-educated, and more or less shallow men rise suddenly to a height of brilliant power and influence in the working of a country’s policy. Sometimes it is wealth that brings them to the front; sometimes the strong support secretly given to them by others in the background, who have their own motives to serve, and who require a public representative; but more often still it is sheer unscrupulousness,—or what may be described as ‘walking over’ all humane and honest considerations,—that places them in triumph at the helm of affairs. To rise from a statesman to be a Secretary of State augurs a certain amount of brain, though not necessarily of the highest quality; while it certainly betokens a good deal of dash and impudence. Carl Pérousse, one of the most prominent among the political notabilities of Europe, had begun his career by small peddling transactions in iron and timber manufactures; he came of a very plebeian stock, and had received only a desultory sort of education, picked up here and there in cheap provincial schools. But he had a restless, domineering spirit of ambition. Ashamed of his plebeian origin, and embittered from his earliest years by a sense of grudge against those who moved in the highest and most influential circles of the time, the idea was always in his mind that he would one day make himself an authority over the very persons, who, in the rough and tumble working-days of his younger manhood, would not so much as cast him a word or a look. He knew that the first thing necessary to attain for this purpose was money; and he had, by steady and constant plod, managed to enlarge and expand all his business concerns into various, important companies, which he set afloat in all quarters of the world,—with the satisfactory result that by the time his years had run well into the forties, he was one of the wealthiest men in the country. He had from the first taken every opportunity to insinuate himself into politics; and in exact proportion to the money he made, so was his success in acquiring such coveted positions in life as brought with them the masterful control of various conflicting aims and interests. His individual influence had extended by leaps and bounds till he had become only secondary in importance to the Prime Minister himself; and he possessed a conveniently elastic conscience, which could be stretched at will to suit any party or any set of principles. In personal appearance he was not prepossessing. Nature had branded him in her own special way ‘Trickster,’ for those who cared to search for her trademark. He was tall and thin, with a narrow head and a deeply-lined, clean-shaven countenance, the cold immovability of which was sometimes broken up by an unpleasant smile, that merely widened the pale set lips without softening them, and disclosed a crooked row of smoke-coloured teeth, much decayed. He had small eyes, furtively hidden under a somewhat restricted frontal development,—his brows were narrow,—his forehead ignoble and retreating. But despite a general badness, or what may be called a ‘smirchiness’ of feature, he had learned to assume an air of superiority, which by its sheer audacity prevented a casual observer from setting him down as the vulgarian he undoubtedly was; and his amazing pluck, boldness and originality in devising ways and means of smothering popular discontent under various ‘shows’ of apparent public prosperity, was immensely useful to all such ‘statesmen,’ whose statesmanship consisted in making as much money as possible for themselves out of the pockets of their credulous countrymen. He was seldom disturbed by opposing influences; and even now when he had just returned from the palace with the full knowledge that the King was absolutely resolved on vetoing certain propositions he had set down in council for the somewhat arbitrary treatment of a certain half-tributary power which had latterly turned rebellious, he was more amused than irritated.
“I suppose his Majesty wants to distinguish himself by a melodramatic coup d’état” he said, leaning easily back in his chair, and studying the tips of his carefully pared and polished finger-nails;—“Poor fool! I don’t blame him for trying to do something more than walk about his palace in different costumes at stated intervals,—but he will find his ‘veto’ out of date. We shall put it to the country;—and I think I can answer for that!”
He smiled, as one who knows where and how to secure a triumph, and his equanimity was not disturbed in the least by the unexpected arrival of the Premier, who was just then announced, and who, coming in his turn from the King’s diplomatic reception, had taken the opportunity to call and see his colleague on his way home.
“You seem fatigued, Marquis!” he said, as, rising to receive his distinguished guest, he placed a chair for him opposite his own. “Was his Majesty’s conversazione more tedious than usual?”
Lutera looked at him with a dubious air.
“No!—it was brief enough so far as I was immediately concerned,” he replied;—“I do not suppose I stayed more than twenty minutes in the Throne-room altogether. I understand you have been told that our proposed negotiations are to be vetoed?”
Pérousse smiled.
“I have been told—yes!—but I have been told many things which I do not believe! The King certainly has the right of veto; but he dare not exercise it.”
“Dare not?” echoed the Marquis—“From his present unconstitutional attitude it seems to me he dare do anything!”
“I tell you he dare not!” repeated Pérousse quietly;—“Unless he wishes to lose the Throne. I daresay if it came to that, we should get on quite as well—if not better—with a Republic!”
Lutera looked at him with an amazed and reluctant admiration.
“You talk of a Republic? You,—who are for ever making the most loyal speeches in favour of the monarchy?”
“Why not?” queried Pérousse lightly;—“If the monarchy does not do as it is told, whip it like a naughty child and send it to bed. That has been easily arranged before now in history!”
The Marquis sat silent,—thinking, or rather brooding heavily. Should he, or should he not unburden himself of certain fears that oppressed his mind? He cleared his throat of a troublesome huskiness and began,—
“If the purely business transactions in which you are engaged——”
“And you also,” put in Pérousse placidly.
The Premier shifted his position uneasily and went on.
“I say, if the purely business transactions of this affair were publicly known——”
“As well expect Cabinet secrets to be posted on a hoarding in the open thoroughfare!” said Pérousse. “What afflicts you with these sudden pangs of distrust at your position? You have taken care to provide for all your own people! What more can you desire?”
Lutera hesitated; then he said slowly:—
“I think there is only one thing for me to do,—and that is to send in my resignation at once!”
Carl Pérousse raised himself a little out of his chair, and opened his narrow eyes.
“Send in your resignation!” he echoed; “On what grounds? Do me the kindness to remember, Marquis, that I am not yet quite ready to take your place!”
He smiled his disagreeable smile,—and the Marquis began to feel irritated.
“Do not be too sure that you will ever have it to take,” he said with some acerbity; “If the King should by any means come to know of your financial deal——”
“You seem to be very suddenly afraid of the King!” interrupted Pérousse; “Or else strange touches of those catch-word ideals ‘Loyalty’ and ‘Patriotism’ are troubling your mind! You speak of my financial deal,—is not yours as important? Review the position;—it is simply this;—for years and years the Ministry have been speculating in office matters,—it is no new thing. Sometimes they have lost, and sometimes they have won; their losses have been replaced by the imposition of taxes on the people,—their gains they have very wisely said nothing about. In these latter days, however, the loss has been considerably more than the gain. ‘Patriotism,’ as stocks, has gone down. ‘Honour’ will not pay the piper. We cannot increase taxation just at present; but by a war, we can clear out some of the useless population, and invest in contracts for supplies. The mob love fighting,—and every small victory won, can be celebrated in beer and illuminations, to expand what is called ‘the heart of the People.’ It is a great ‘heart,’ and always leaps to strong drink,—which is cheap enough, being so largely adulterated. The country we propose to subdue is rich,—and both you and I have large investments of land there. With the success which our arms are sure to obtain, we shall fill not only the State coffers (which have been somewhat emptied by our predecessors’ peculations), but our own coffers as well. The King ‘vetoes’ the war; then let us hear what the People say! Of course we must work them up first; and then get their verdict while they are red-hot with patriotic excitement. The Press, ordered by Jost, can manage that! Put it to the country; (through Jost);—but do not talk of resigning when we are on the brink of success! I will carry this thing through, despite the King’s ‘veto’!”
“Wait!” said the Marquis, drawing his chair closer to Pérousse, and speaking in a low uneasy tone; “You do not know all! There is some secret agency at work against us; and, among other things, I fear that a foreign spy has been inadvertently allowed to learn the mainspring of our principal moves. Listen, and judge for yourself!”
And he related the story of David Jost’s midnight experience, carefully emphasising every point connected with his own signet-ring. As he proceeded with the narration, Pérousse’s face grew livid,—once or twice he clenched his hand nervously, but he said nothing till he had heard all.
“Your ring, you say, had never left the King’s possession?”
“So the King himself assured me, this very afternoon.”
“Then someone must have passed off an imitation signet on David Jost,” continued Pérousse meditatively. “What name did the spy give?”
“Pasquin Leroy.”
Carl Pérousse opened a small memorandum book, and carefully wrote the name down within it.
“Whatever David Jost has said, David Jost alone is answerable for!” he then said calmly—“A Jew may be called a liar with impunity, and whatever a Jew has asserted can be flatly denied. Remember, he is in our pay!”
“I doubt if he will consent to be made the scapegoat in this affair,” said Lutera; “Unless we can make it exceptionally to his advantage;—he has the press at his command.”
“Give him a title!” returned Pérousse contemptuously; “These Jew press-men love nothing better!”
The Marquis smiled somewhat sardonically.
“Jost, with a patent of nobility would cut rather an extraordinary figure!” he said; “Still he would probably make good use of it,—especially if he were to start a newspaper in London! They would accept him as a great man there!”
Pérousse gave a careless nod; his thoughts were otherwise occupied.
“This Pasquin Leroy has gone to Moscow?”
“According to his own words, he was leaving this morning.”
“I daresay that statement is a blind. I should not at all wonder if he is still in the city. I will get an exact description of him from Jost, and set Bernhoff on his track.”
“Do not forget,” said the Marquis impressively, “that he told Jost in apparently the most friendly and well-meaning manner possible, that the King had discovered the whole plan of our financial campaign. He even reported me as being ready to resign in consequence——”
“Which apparently you are!” interpolated Pérousse with some sarcasm.
“I certainly have my resignation in prospect,” returned Lutera coldly—“And, so far, this mysterious spy has seemingly probed my thoughts. If he is as correct in his report concerning the King, it is impossible to say what may be the consequence.”
“Why, what can the King do?” demanded Pérousse impatiently, and with scorn for the vacillating humour of his companion; “Granted that he knew everything from the beginning——”
“Including your large land purchases and contract concessions in the very country you propose war with,” put in the Marquis,—“Say that he knew you had resolved on war, and had already started a company for the fabrication of the guns and other armaments, out of which you get the principal pickings—what then?”
“What then?” echoed Pérousse defiantly—“Why nothing! The King is as powerless as a target in a field, set up for arrows to be aimed at! He dare not divulge a State secret; he has no privilege of interference with politics; all he can do is to ‘lead’ fashionable society—a poor business at best—and at present his lead is not particularly apparent. The King must do as We command!”
He rose and paced up and down with agitated steps.
“To-day, when he told me he had resolved to ‘veto’ my propositions, I accepted his information without any manifestation of surprise. I merely said it would have to be stated in the Senate, and that reasons would have to be given. He agreed, and said that he himself would proclaim those reasons. I told him it was impossible!”
“And what was his reply?” asked the Marquis.
“His reply was as absurd as his avowed intention. ‘Hitherto it has been impossible,’ he said; ‘But in Our reign we shall make it possible!’ He declined any further conversation with me, referring me to you and our chief colleagues in the Cabinet.”
“Well?”
“Well! I pay no more attention to a King’s sudden caprice than I do to the veering of the wind! He will alter his mind in a few days, when the exigency of the matters in hand becomes apparent to him. In the same way, he will revoke his decision about that grant of land to the Jesuits. He must let them have their way.”
“What benefit do we get by favouring the Jesuits?” asked Lutera.
“Jost gets a thousand a year for putting flattering notices of the schools, processions, festivals and such nonsense in his various newspapers; and our party secures the political support of the Vatican in Europe,—which just now is very necessary. The Pope must give his Christian benediction not only to our Educational system, but also to the war!”
“Then the King has set himself in our way already, even in this matter?”
“He has! Quite unaccountably and very foolishly. But we shall persuade him still to be of our opinion. The ass that will not walk must be beaten till he gallops! I have no anxiety whatever on any point; even the advent of Jost’s spy, with an imitation of your signet on his finger appears to me quite melodramatic, and only helps to make the general situation more interesting,—to me at least;—I am only sorry to see that you allow yourself to be so much concerned over these trifles!”
“I have my family to think of,” said the Marquis slowly; “My reputation as a statesman, and my honour as a minister are both at stake.” Pérousse smiled oddly, but said nothing. “If in any way my name became a subject of popular animadversion, it would entirely ruin the position I believe I have attained in history. I have always wished,—” and there was a tinge of pathos in his voice—“my descendants to hold a certain pride in my career!”
Pérousse looked at him with grim amusement.
“It is a curious and unpleasant fact that the ‘descendants’ of these days do not care a button for their ancestors,” he said; “They generally try to forget them as fast as possible. What do the descendants of Robespierre, (if there are any), care about him? The descendants of Wellington? The descendants of Beethoven or Lord Byron? Among the many numerous advantages attending the world-wide fame of Shakespeare is that he has left no descendants. If he had, his memory would have been more vulgarised by them, than by any Yankee kicker at his grave! One of the most remarkable features of this progressive age is the cheerful ease with which sons forget they ever had fathers! I am afraid, Marquis, you are not likely to escape the common doom!”
Lutera rose slowly, and prepared to take his departure.
“I shall call a Cabinet Council for Monday,” he said; “This is Friday. You will find it convenient to attend?”
Pérousse, rising at the same time, assented smilingly.
“You will see things in a better and clearer light by then,” he said. “Rely on me! I have not involved you thus far with any intention of bringing you to loss or disaster. Whatever befalls you in this affair must equally befall me; we are both in the same boat. We must carry things through with a firm hand, and show no hesitation. As for the King, his business is to be a Dummy; and as Dummy he must remain.”
Lutera made no reply. They shook hands,—not over cordially,—and parted; and as soon as Pérousse heard the wheels of the Premier’s carriage grinding away from his outer gate, he applied himself vigorously to the handle of one of the numerous telephone wires fitted up near his desk, and after getting into communication with the quarter he desired, requested General Bernhoff, Chief of the Police, to attend upon him instantly. Bernhoff’s headquarters were close by, so that he had but to wait barely a quarter of an hour before that personage,—the same who had before been summoned to the presence of the King,—appeared.
To him Pérousse handed a slip of paper, on which he had written the words ‘Pasquin Leroy.’
“Do you know that name?” he asked.
General Bernhoff looked at it attentively. Only the keenest and closest observer could have possibly detected the slight flicker of a smile under the stiff waxed points of his military moustache, as he read it. He returned it carefully folded.
“I fancy I have heard it!” he said cautiously; “In any case, I shall remember it.”
“Good! There is a man of that name in this city; trace him if you can! Take this note to Mr. David Jost”—and while he spoke he hastily scrawled a few lines and addressed them—“and he will give you an exact personal description of him. He is reported to have left for Moscow,—but I discredit that statement. He is a foreign spy, engaged, we believe, in the work of taking plans of our military defences,—he must be arrested, and dealt with rigorously at once. You understand?”
“Perfectly,” replied Bernhoff, accepting the note handed to him; “If he is to be discovered, I shall not fail to discover him!”
“And when you think you are on the track, let me have information at once,” went on Pérousse; “But be well on your guard, and let no one learn the object of your pursuit. Keep your own counsel!”
“I always do!” returned Bernhoff bluntly. “If I did not there might be trouble!”
Pérousse looked at him sharply, but seeing the wooden-like impassiveness of his countenance, forced a smile.
“There might indeed!” he said; “Your tact and discretion, General, do much to keep the city quiet. But this affair of Pasquin Leroy is a private matter.”
“Distinctly so!” agreed Bernhoff quietly; “I hold the position entirely!”
He shortly afterwards withdrew, and Carl Pérousse, satisfied that he had at any rate taken precautions to make known the existence of a spy in the city, if not to secure his arrest, turned to the crowding business on his hands with a sense of ease and refreshment. He might not have felt quite so self-assured and complacent, had he seen the worthy Bernhoff smiling broadly to himself as he strolled along the street, with the air of one enjoying a joke, the while he murmured,—
“Pasquin Leroy,—engaged in taking plans of the military defences—is he? Ah!—a very dangerous amusement to indulge in! Engaged in taking plans!—Ah!—Yes!—Very good,—very good; excellent! Do I know the name? Yes! I fancy I might have heard it! Oh, yes, very good indeed—excellent! And this spy is probably still in the city? Yes!—Probably! Yes—I should imagine it quite likely!”
Still smiling, and apparently in the best of humours with himself and the world at large, the General continued his easy stroll by the sea-fronted ways of the city, along the many picturesque terraces, and up flights of marble steps built somewhat in the fashion of the prettiest corners of Monaco, till he reached the chief promenade and resort of fashion, which being a broad avenue running immediately under and in front of the King’s palace facing the sea, was in the late sunshine of the afternoon crowded with carriages and pedestrians. Here he took his place with the rest, saluting a fellow officer here, or a friend there,—and stood bareheaded with the rest of the crowd, when a light gracefully-shaped landau, drawn by four greys, and escorted by postillions in the Royal liveries, passed like a triumphal car, enshrining the cold, changeless and statuesque beauty of the Queen, upon whom the public were never weary of gazing. She was a curiosity to them—a living miracle in her unwithering loveliness; for, apparently unmoved by emotion herself, she roused all sorts of emotions in others. Bernhoff had seen her a thousand times, but never without a sense of new dazzlement.
“Always the same Sphinx!” he thought now, with a slight frown shading the bluff good-nature of his usual expression; “She is a woman who will face Death as she faces Time,—with that cold smile of hers which expresses nothing but scorn of all life’s little business!”
He proceeded meditatively on his way to the palace itself, where, on demand, he was at once admitted to the private apartments of the King.