‘And Sadbag is the right man to do it!’ shouted Geometrus, who was getting quite warm with the discussion.
‘He’s a right man in the wrong hole! I mean he’s got the Emperor in a queer hole, and he won’t let him out of it! The position doth wholly delight him. He’ll take a holy joy in “taking it out of him,” or “putting him up a tree,” or making him eat humble pie, or what thou likest! Oh, he’s a sad dog or sadbag, I know not which, and no mistake! But we must circumvent him.’
‘I have no desire to circumvent him; I would infinitely prefer to help him. I do not regard this affair in the same light as thou, and could have hushed it up without the aid of a Cabinet minister, for the Emperor desired the same on the spot, offering me promotion, but I refused it on such terms,’ interposed Geometrus with much spirit.
‘I would that all men were as thou art, my friend, for then there would be neither place-maker nor place-seeker. What a perfect Government we should have; everyone seeking his neighbour’s good to the detriment of his own! The world indeed, would be too perfect for anything!’
‘No fear of that as long as there are those who strive to cover up ill-doing. I will seek Mr. Sadbag and get counsel of him, for it is very plain I can obtain no good advice from thee,’ said Geometrus, who was altogether disgusted at the minister’s light raillery, and rose from his seat to go away.
‘Stay, I hear familiar footsteps! One seeks admission whom I would see before thou leavest me,’ exclaimed the minister, who despite all his playful talk, knew how to act most wisely.
‘The Emperor! Sire, thy visit is well-timed; one moment, in private, I beg,’ and Divesdale conducted Felicitas into an inner apartment.
‘I require thy help and advice in a most painful matter,’ quoth the Emperor, turning very red in the face, but his speech was interrupted by the minister in a very offhand manner.
‘Sire, not another word, I have heard the whole story—’tis a frightful hobble, I must say. Truly a most diverting drama! Beats broad burlesque to bits! If society should get hold of this precious piece of scandal thy prestige will be ruined! An Emperor is a god, or at least, a demigod, who should appear perfect before his people, whether he be or no. But, now, he must step down from his pedestal, and apologise, just to straighten things comfortably. Nay, it cannot be hard to kneel to a deity, for Mercia is no less! All beautiful women are goddesses, let down from the skies for our adoration: ’tis very plain they were created for man’s worship: away, then, and fall down upon thy knees and implore her mercy.’
‘But she will not hear me,’ cried the Emperor taken aback by this unexpected harangue; ‘she is proud, haughty, and obdurate—ah, thou knowest not Mercia!’