“Grand hotel
des champs D’ELYSEES, Paris,
June
4, 1914.
“My dear Gorman,
“I arrive at the excellent Beaufort’s
Hotel the day after to-morrow. I hope that
you will dine with me that evening at 8 p.m.
There are matters of importance. Corinne accompanies
me. She is adorable as ever, in good form
and full of peas. We have had a time of
a life, rattling, since I saw you. Now alas
and damn there are matters of importance.
The Emperor but I can write no more Corinne
awaits me. We go to paint Paris blue, she
and I, once again. Then damn and alas London
and the virtuous life of your English middling class.
“KONRAD
KARL.”
Gorman did not hesitate for a moment.
He made up his mind to accept the invitation even
if he had to miss the most important division which
Parliament enjoyed during its whole session. The
prospect of seeing Konrad Karl and Madame Ypsilante
practising middle-class virtue in Beaufort’s
Hotel was by itself sufficiently attractive. The
promise of important affairs for discussion was another
lure. Gorman loves important affairs, especially
those of other people. But the mention of the
Emperor interested him most. The introduction
of his name made it certain that the important affairs
were those of Salissa. And Gorman had always
been anxious to understand in what way the Emperor
was mixed up with Megalia and how he came to exercise
an influence over that independent state.
Gorman was dressing for dinner was,
in fact, buttoning his collar when his
landlord entered his room and handed him a card.
Gorman looked at it.
“FRIEDRICH GOLDSTURMER,
Dealer in Jewels and Precious Stones,
Old Bond Street.”
Written across the corner of the card
were the words: “Business important and
urgent.”
Gorman glanced at his watch.
He had no time to spare if he meant to be at Beaufort’s
at eight. Punctuality was no doubt one of the
middle-class virtues which the King and Madame Ypsilante
were at that moment practising. Gorman hesitated.
The landlord, who had once been a butler, stood waiting.
“Tell him,” said Gorman, “to call
to-morrow at eleven.”
“Beg pardon, sir,” said
the landlord, “but the gentleman says his business
is most pressing.”
Gorman reflected. If Goldsturmer
had given the landlord five shillings and
this seemed likely the business must be
very pressing indeed; and King Konrad Karl could not
yet have become an absolute slave to the virtue of
punctuality.
“Show him in here,” said Gorman; “that
will save time.”
Goldsturmer slipped into the room and stood meekly
near the door.
“Sit down,” said Gorman.
“Sit on the bed if you can’t find a chair,
and tell me what you want with me, as quickly as you
can.”
“It’s very kind of you,”
said Goldsturmer, “to receive me at this hour.
Nothing but the very pressing nature of my business but
I will get to the point. You will doubtless remember
a certain rope of pearls. Let me see, it must
have been in March ”
“I don’t remember any
rope of pearls,” said Gorman. “I take
no interest in pearls.”
“No? Still I hoped you
might recollect those pearls. They were the finest
I ever had in my hands.”
Goldsturmer spoke in a tone of pained
regret. It seemed to him a sad thing that there
should be any man in the world who took no interest
in pearls.
“Madame Ypsilante bought them,” said Goldsturmer.
“There’s no use coming
to me,” said Gorman, “if you’ve failed
to get your money. I’ve nothing to do with
the lady.”
Goldsturmer smiled.
“She paid,” he said.
“Otherwise she would not have got the pearls.
There was another lady who might have bought them,
an American, a Miss Donovan.”
“But Madame got them,” said Gorman.
“Yes. But perhaps Miss
Donovan might have them now, through me, at the original
price.”
Gorman began to be interested.
“Madame tired of them?” he asked.
“Wants to sell?”
“Tired of them!” said
Goldsturmer. “No. For any one who loves
pearls that would be impossible. But desires
to sell. Yes.”
“Well,” said Gorman.
“That’s her affair and yours. I don’t
see that I have anything to do with it.”
“Before I agree to buy,”
said Goldsturmer, “I should like to be sure
that the American lady, Miss Donovan, still wishes
for the pearls. I do not want to lock up my capital.
I cannot afford to lock up so large a sum. I
must be assured of a purchaser before I buy from Madame
Ypsilante. It is not every one who can pay for
such pearls. Ah! if you had seen them! They
are suited for the wearing of a queen. Only a
queen should have them.”
Miss Donovan was, of course, a queen.
Gorman wondered whether Goldsturmer knew that.
He looked at the little Jew sharply. Goldsturmer’s
face wore a far-away dreamy expression. He seemed
to be thinking of his pearls draped round the neck
of an Empress, a Czarina or some other lady of very
high estate who would wear them worthily.
“Only a queen,” he murmured,
“should wear those pearls.”
“Madame Ypsilante is the next
best thing to a queen,” said Gorman.
A faint smile flickered across Goldsturmer’s
mouth.
“I would rather,” he said,
“that a real queen, a queen by right of law,
wore them. Tell me, Mr. Gorman, is Miss Donovan
still willing to buy them?”
“I’m sure I don’t
know,” said Gorman. “I haven’t
seen her for weeks. She’s yachting in the
Mediterranean with her father. If I were you I’d
give up Miss Donovan and look out for a queen.”
“Thank you,” said Goldsturmer.
“But if I give up Miss Donovan I think I shall
not buy the pearls from Madame Ypsilante. There
are, alas, few queens.”
Gorman was not, after all, more than
five minutes late for dinner. The King was waiting
for him, but without any sign of impatience. Madame
Ypsilante entered the room a minute or two later.
She was wearing a purple velvet dress
which struck Gorman as a very regal garment.
Round her neck was a magnificent rope of pearls.
Gorman had no doubt that they were those of which
Goldsturmer had spoken. They were finer than
any he had ever seen. It was easy to believe that
there was no other such necklace in the world and that
only a queen should wear them. But they suited
Madame Ypsilante. She would, so far as her appearance
went, have made a very fine queen.
During dinner the conversation was
about Paris. The King spoke of pleasant adventures
there, of the life he and Madame had lived, of the
delight of having money to spend, really enough of
it, in a city like Paris. He told his stories
well, his vehemently idiomatic English emphasizing
his points. He became lyrical in his appreciation
of the joys of life. When dessert was on the
table and port took the place of champagne he lapsed
into a philosophic mood.
“The damned gods of life,”
he said, “are blind of one eye. They are
lame and they limp. They are left-handed.
They give the oof, the dollars, the shekels, and do
not give the power to enjoy. The Americans your
Donovan, for example. What does he know of pleasure?
The English of your middling classes. What is
Paris to them? They have money but no more.
Those left-handed gods have given a useless gift.
On me and on Corinne they have bestowed the power,
the knowledge, the skill to enjoy; and we, damn it
all, have no money.”
The King sighed deeply. Madame
Ypsilante had tears in her eyes. She was in full
sympathy with the King’s new mood. Gorman
was astonished. The price which Mr. Donovan had
paid for the crown of Salissa was a large one.
Even after ten thousand pounds had been spent on Madame
Ypsilante’s pearls there was a sum left which
it would be difficult to spend in a few weeks.
“Surely,” he said, “you
haven’t got rid of all the money yet? You
can’t have spent it in the time. I didn’t
think you could be hard up again so soon. Even
when I heard that Madame wanted to sell her pearls ”
“Sell my pearls!” said
Madame. “But never! Never, never!!”
There were no tears in her eyes then.
The mood of self-pity induced by the King’s
reflections on left-handed gods had passed away.
She looked fierce as a tigress when she shot out her
next question to Gorman.
“Who has said that I wish to
sell my pearls? Who has said it? I demand.
I insist: Tell me his name and I will at once
kill him. I shall pluck out his heart and dogs
shall eat it.”
Gorman did not care whether Goldsturmer’s
heart was eaten by dogs or not. He did want to
understand how it came that the astute Jew expected
to have the pearls offered to him. It was plain
that Madame Ypsilante did not want to sell them and
that she had not suggested the sale.
“It was Goldsturmer,”
said Gorman, “who told me. He seemed to
think that Miss Donovan might buy them.”
Madame at once knocked down two wine-glasses
and a vase of flowers.
“That cursed offspring of the
litter of filthy Jews who make Hamburg stink!
Tell him that I will pull out his hair, his teeth,
his eyes, but that never, never will that American
miss touch one of my pearls. I will not sell,
will not, will not.”
The King looked round. He satisfied
himself that the waiters had left the room.
“Alas,” he said, “alas,
my poor Corinne! But consider. There is an
English proverb: the horse needs must trot along,
trot smart, when it is the devil who drives.”
“He is the devil, that Emperor,”
said Madame. “But not for any Emperor will
I part with one single pearl.”
“Look here,” said Gorman.
“There’s evidently been some mistake about
Goldsturmer and the pearls. I don’t profess
to understand what’s happening, but if I’m
to help you in any way ”
“You are to help damnably,”
said the King. “Are you not our friend?”
“In that case,” said Gorman,
“before I go a step further into the matter
I must know what on earth the Emperor has got to do
with Madame’s pearls.”
“The Emperor,” said Madame Ypsilante,
“is a devil.”
“Take another glass of port,”
said the King. “No? Then light a cigar.
If you will light a cigar and fill for yourself a glass
of brandy also for Corinne I
will tell you about the Emperor.”
Gorman filled Madame’s glass
and his own. He was particular about Madame’s.
Brandy had a soothing influence on her. He did
not like her habit of throwing things about in moments
of excitement. He also lit a cigar.
“I will make my breast clean
of the whole affair,” said the King. “Then
you will understand and help us. The Emperor has
spilt cold water all over Salissa that
is over the sale of the island to the American.”
“The Emperor must have very
little to do,” said Gorman, “if he has
time to waste in fussing about a wretched little island
like Salissa. How did he hear about the sale?”
“I think,” said the King,
“that Steinwitz must have permitted the cat
to jump out of the bag. Steinwitz smelt rats,
of that I am sure.”
“I daresay you’re right,”
said Gorman. “I rather thought Steinwitz
was nosing around. But why does the Emperor mind?
That’s what I’m trying to get at.”
The King shrugged his shoulders.
“Who knows?” he said.
“Real Politik, perhaps. What you
call How do you call Real Politik?”
“Haven’t got a word for
it,” said Gorman. “For the matter
of that we haven’t got the thing. We manage
along all right with sham politics, Ireland and Insurance
Acts and the rest of it. If real politics lead
to trouble over places like Salissa I prefer our home-made
imitation. But Real Politik or not, the
thing’s done; so what’s the good of the
Emperor talking?”
“The Emperor,” said the
King, “says ’Buy back. Take again
your island. Foot no, it is foot of
a horse hoof, or boot away the American.
Give him his price and let him go.’ And
I cannot. It is no longer possible to give back
the oof.”
“I quite understand that,”
said Gorman. “Your six weeks in Paris and
Madame’s pearls ”
“The Emperor shall not touch
my pearls,” said Madame Ypsilante. “Rather
would I swallow them.”
“The American,” said the
King, “will perhaps accept a reduced price.
The island is not an amusing place. Dull, my friend,
dull as ditch mud. By this time he has found
out that Salissa is as respectable as Sunday, as golf,
as what you call a seasonable ticket. He will
not want to keep it. He will accept a price,
perhaps, if I offer.”
“I don’t expect he’ll
accept a price at all,” said Gorman, “reduced
or increased. I don’t know, of course.
He may be dead sick of the place already; but I’ll
be surprised if he is. You’ll find when
you ask him that he’ll simply refuse to part
with the island.”
“But,” said the King,
“he must. As I have just said to Corinne,
when the devil drives the horse to water it needs
must take a drink. The Emperor has said that
Salissa is once more to return to the Crown of Megalia.”
“The Emperor may say that,”
said Gorman, “but it doesn’t at all follow
that Donovan will agree with him.”
“But the Emperor !
It is not for Mr. Donovan to agree or disagree with
the Emperor. When the Emperor commands it is a
case of knuckles down. But you do not know the
Emperor.”
“I do not,” said Gorman,
“but I’m inclined to think that you take
an exaggerated view of him. After all, what can
he do to Donovan or to you for that matter? Come
now, suppose you won’t or can’t buy back
the island, what happens? What’s the alternative?
There must be an alternative of some sort.”
“There is yes, there certainly is
an alternative.”
The King paused and looked apprehensively at Madame
Ypsilante.
“He can’t lay hands on
you,” said Gorman, “if you stick to Paris
or even London. That Emperor isn’t particularly
popular in either city.”
The King, his eyes still fixed on
Madame Ypsilante, nodded sideways towards Gorman.
The nod was a very slight one, barely perceptible.
It suggested the need of extreme caution. Gorman
is a quick-witted man and he saw the nod, but he failed
altogether to guess what the alternative was.
Madame Ypsilante noticed the expression
of the King’s face when he looked at her.
She also saw the nod that was meant for Gorman.
She became uneasy. Her eyes had a hard glitter
in them. Gorman at once refilled her glass.
That soothed her a little. She did not break
anything. But she spoke:
“Konrad, at once tell me all that the Emperor
said.”
“Corinne,” said the King,
“my beloved Corinne, it will make no difference
to you. The future and the past will be as six
to one and half a dozen to the other. You will
always be Corinne. Have no fear, and as
my friend Gorman would say, do not take off your hair.”
“Tell me,” said Madame.
“The Emperor,” said the
King, “has said to me, ’Buy back the island
or else marry the American.’ In that way
also Salissa would return to the Crown of Megalia.”
Gorman fully expected that Madame
Ypsilante would at once have broken every glass on
the table. It would not have surprised him in
the least if she had torn handfuls of hair off the
King’s head. To his amazement she laughed.
It was a most unpleasant laugh. But it was not
the laugh of a lunatic. It was not even hysterical.
“That imbecile,” she said, “that
miss!”
Her contempt for the girl left no
room for jealousy. Madame Ypsilante did not seem
to care whether the King married or did not.
“I don’t think much of
that plan,” said Gorman. “Your Emperor
may be the everlasting boss you seem to think ”
“In the register of Lloyd’s,”
said the King, “he takes place in the class
A 1st.”
“But,” said Gorman, “he
hasn’t much sense if he thinks that a girl like
Miss Donovan can be married off in that way to any
one he chooses to name. I’m not saying
anything against your character, sir ”
“My Konrad,” said Madame Ypsilante, “is
Konrad.”
“Exactly,” said Gorman.
“Those are my points put concisely in two words.
First he’s yours and next he’s himself.
No. I don’t think that you’ve much
chance of buying back the island, but you’ve
no chance at all of marrying the girl.”
“I do not want either the one
or the other,” said the King. “I do
not care the cursing of a tinker, not a two-a-penny
damn if I never put my eye on the island or the girl.
Arrange which you prefer. I place both into your
hands, my dear Gorman. I leave them there.
I shall put my foot on the bill if you buy and the
price is moderate. I shall toe the scratch if
you arrange that I lead the American to the altar of
Hymen. Settle, arrange, fix down which you will.”
Gorman gasped. He was always
ready to give disinterested advice in the King’s
affairs. He was even willing to lend a helping
hand in times of difficulty; but he was startled at
being asked to act as plenipotentiary for the sale
of a kingdom or the negotiation of a royal marriage.
“Do you mean to say,”
he said, “that you expect me to arrange the
whole thing?”
“You have tumbled to the idea
with precision,” said the King. “You
have caught it on. You are wonderful, my friend.
Thus everything arranges. You go to Salissa and
tell the American the wishes of the Emperor.
Corinne and I return to Paris. If a sale is arranged ”
“I will not part with my pearls,”
said Madame. “Neither for the Emperor nor
for any one.”
“Corinne!” said the King
reproachfully. “Would I ask it of you?
No. If a sale is arranged I give a bill to the
American, a bill of three months, and for security
I place at his disposal I pledge the revenue
of Megalia for ten years; for a hundred years.
If it seems more desirable that I marry; good, I am
ready. The American girl comes to Paris.
I meet her. We marry. The Emperor is satisfied.
It is upon you, my dear Gorman, to fix it down.”
“I don’t see,” said
Gorman, “how I can possibly undertake It’s
asking a lot, you know. Besides ”
“You are my friend,” said
the King. “Can I ask more than too much
from my friend?”
“Besides,” said Gorman,
“it’s no kind of use. Donovan isn’t
likely to sell. He certainly wouldn’t accept
your bill if he did sell. And marrying the girl
is out of the question. What’s the good
of my undertaking impossibilities?”
The King stood up. With his cigar
between his fingers he raised his right hand above
his head. He laid his left hand upon his shirt
front. It was an impressive and heroic attitude.
“For Gorman, M.P.,” he
said, “there are in the world no impossibilities.
For his talents all careers are open doors. When
Gorman, M.P., says ‘I do it,’ the damned
thing at once is done. I offer But
no. I do not offer where I trust I
confer upon Gorman, M.P., the Order of the Royal Pink
Vulture of Megalia, First Class. You are Knight
Commander, my friend. You are also Count Gorman
if you wish.”
Madame Ypsilante slipped from her
chair and knelt down at Gorman’s feet.
She took his right hand and kissed it with every appearance
of fervour.
“You will do it,” she
said, “for the sake of Konrad Karl. Oh,
Sir Gorman, M.P., you would do it at once if you understood.
Poor Konrad! He is having so much delight with
me in Paris. This time only in our lives it has
come to us to have enough money and to be in Paris.
It is cruel so cruel that the Emperor should
say: ’No. Give back the money.
Go from Paris. Be starved. Have no pearls,
no joy.’ But you will save us. Say
you will save us.”
Gorman’s position was an exceedingly
difficult one. Madame Ypsilante had firm hold
on his hand. She was kissing it at the moment.
He was not at all sure that she would not bite it
if he refused her request.
“I’ll think the whole
thing over,” he said. “I don’t
expect I can do anything, but I’ll look into
the matter and let you know.”
Madame mouthed his hand in a frenzy
of gratitude. She wept copiously. Gorman
could feel drops which he supposed to be tears trickling
down the inside of his sleeve. The King seized
his other hand and shook it heartily.
“It is now as good as done,”
he said. “Let us drink to success.
I ring the bell. I order champagne, one bottle,
two bottles, three, many bottles in the honour of
my friend Sir Gorman who has said: ’Damn
it, I will.’”
Under the influence of the second
bottle of champagne the King escaped from his heroic
mood. Gorman began to realize that a certain cunning
lay behind the preposterous proposal he had listened
to.
“I shall inform the Emperor,”
said the King, “that you go to Salissa to arrange
according to his wish. I shall say: ’M.P.
Count Sir Gorman goes. He is a statesman, a financier,
a diplomat, a man of uncommon sense.’ The
Emperor will then be satisfied.”
“He’ll probably be very
dissatisfied when I come back,” said Gorman.
“That will be let
me consider perhaps eight weeks. In
eight weeks many things may happen. And if not,
still Corinne and I will have had eight weeks in Paris
with oof which we can burn. It is something.”