CHAPTER FOUR

Soon after midnight the yacht got under way, and, while the prince went astern, hardly conscious whither he was going, Scherer retired to the captain's cabin to look over the ship's papers. But his thoughts wandered. He was wondering whether, in the eventuality of Prince Eduard assuming the crown, the young sovereign would still seek his counsel. Again in imagination the financier saw himself and the prince in the early days of their acquaintance, pacing to and fro in the library, talking of all and sundry, from Rousseau to Emerson, and from Marx to Plato. Again he saw the dignified modesty of the young fellow's inquiring eyes, and marvelled at the contrast between this intimate of his and the man the world spoke of as the "tall cynical prince"; and Scherer was pleased at the thought that these talks, which were, rather, monologues delivered by a middle-aged and experienced warrior to his junior, might serve, in the end, to guide a reigning monarch into the paths of democracy.

Born in the ranks of the middle class and resolved never to accept a title which would raise him out of the commonalty, Scherer, jealous of his independence, shunned a life in the arena of practical politics, feeling that his mission was, rather, to spread his philanthropical ideas by personal influence. For he had learned from the experiences of business life, as he had from reading historical memoirs, how decisive was the value of such influence; he knew how the whole trend of some political issue might depend on a chance meeting, a chance conversation; and he smiled when he remembered that even in his own newspapers such developments were ascribed to parliamentary pressure or to the "spirit of the time." For an hour, now, he had been weighing the possibility that his ideas might find in this modern-minded prince an instrument for their realization; he had, as it were, a vision of an initial experiment on German soil.... The only thing he did not feel certain about was whether he had done wisely to allow his love of music to induce him to bring the prince and the Russian together that evening in March when they had made up a quartette party; he wondered how far Kyril had been able to influence the prince; he himself, as a man of bourgeois birth, must necessarily be in conflict with a man of the Russian's views; yet Kyril and the prince had had long talks together since they had joined the yacht....

Kyril did not care to take his customary place at the stern this evening; he no longer felt fascinated by the wake the ship left behind in the water; another than he, one who tonight had to hold the balance between past and future, had a better right to such contemplation.

The Russian sat huddled upon a coil of rope in the bows looking out towards the path the vessel would be taking. He gazed into the future, while he mused: "Will this man, too, play the traitor to himself as they all do when they mount the throne? I can see him as he sits over there lost in reverie. What's he thinking about? Probably he's merely worrying as to whether there should be six black horses or eight! Ah, je m'en fiche! ... Or, can I still do something with him? Everything for the people! Yes, he spoke quite seriously; that would be one step gained at least. If only I could keep an eye on him, if only I could have a finger in that pie.... I'd have to get the comrades to understand--white-livered curs!--just what such 'compromises' signify.... A tree grows up from a tiny seed, and should even an insignificant little country be impregnated with our ideas; ... but at first its people would want their prince at the head of things. He's no worse a man than any of us, and, reflected in the mirror of the centuries... What harm can there be in making a German essay before starting on the great Russian work?..."

He pondered the thought deeply; he kept his mind pure of personal ambition, of will to personal power; under the lash of his fanatical and passionate meditations he even kept his jealousy and the call of his blood to heel. It was foreign to this Russian's nature to see himself clearly, as he really was; to distinguish will-to-power from an unselfish desire to improve the lot of the people, as the woodman distinguishes green from green in the forest. He did not consciously wish to approve in himself, and to range in the complicated calculus of motives, impulses which would in the end be made the foundation of bargains; to give free rein to the urges of his strangely mingled nature, under the plea that thereby he was promoting the cause of freedom. And yet, when his instincts called, he was prone to sacrifice his mission, since he was not really inclined, in his inner-most heart, for self-immolation. At the ecstatic hour of martyrdom, he would be a fanatic willing to put his head in the noose; but it would never occur to this peasant's son that, for the sake of his mission, he ought to forgo everyday joys, the delights of youth, the embraces of a woman he desired. Thus in these nocturnal musings he revolved unceasingly in an abstract orbit, ignoring his own secret motive--which was, to remain in close contact with the prince and the woman whose careers would (he foresaw) be intertwined.

Eduard sat at the other end of the yacht, alone, as if he were no longer one of the company. After a while, Scherer made up his mind to go to bed without disturbing his guest by wishing him good-night. He urged the Russian to follow suit.

"Do you mean to finish the cruise according to plan?" asked Kyril.

"No, I don't expect to do much more than go to Venice. We had thought to stay aboard another week, but everything is changed now."

"Hm. Yes, of course. Does the prince treasure his liberty?"

"Aye--and his father," answered Scherer evasively. "The old man suffers from heart trouble, and will hardly I fear recover from the shock."

"Then it would be the prince's turn?"

"He hopes his father will recover."

"Wily old fox," thought Kyril. "These German bourgeois are past masters in the art of evasion!"

"Are you staying up any longer? I'm tired."

"So am I. You played opus in awfully well," continued Kyril as they descended the companion. "The presto, perhaps, needs just a drop of machine oil...."

"At last," sighed Eduard who had longed for complete solitude, so that his harassed nerves might find relief in movement, though it were no more than pacing up and down the deck. Yet he could not venture on such a walk so long as the others were about, lest they should enter into conversation. Moreover, his ambition spurred him to seek the bows, a place he grudged the Russian this night; an irresistible impulse drove him to cut lose from the stern, which promoted thoughts of past happenings made vivid and actual by the lurid news from his home. Arrived at the bows, he stood watching the nose of the yacht cutting its way through the waters, and the sight gave him a sense of pleasure. He, such a combination of bitter-sweet irony, had always been loath to delve into the future; but tonight when care and movement seemed simultaneously forced on him, something drew him to the bows.... Was it already an actuality? Could not Heinrich...?

A light footfall caught his ear. Diana, having discarded her gay white frock, had changed into a dark one. She had waited until she heard the two men retire to their cabins. She felt that Eduard, with whom she had exchanged no word on the drive down to the harbour, would be needing her. As Scherer and Kyril passed her cabin, she opened the door, little caring what the former, and still less what the latter, might think of her action. Experienced in all the ruses of love, supple of body as an artist or an apache, she now took this unconventional step quite frankly, accosting the two men as they approached, asking innocently: "Is the prince still on deck?"

"Yes, I fancy he is."

"Then I'll go up and have a talk with him. Good-night!"

As Diana drew near, the prince seized her hand with unwonted vivacity.

"Stay with me!" His appeal was spoken softly but vehemently. "Won't you stay?" The question was pregnant with anxiety.

"Of course I will," she exclaimed cheerfully, giving him renewed confidence, so that his tone was more courageous as he asked: "Here, on deck, till morning?"

"Till morning."

"And then, afterwards too?"

"Afterwards too." She smiled evasively.

There was an abrupt change in his manner. He turned round, and leaned his back against the rail.

"Tomorrow I shall be at home."

"Why do you speak so coldly?"

"I shall refuse the succession."

"What do you mean?"

"Immediately on arriving, tomorrow, I shall hand my refusal in to the ministry, so that in the case of Heinrich's--or in the case of my father's--death, there shall be no discussion...."

She was silent for a while. Then she asked, as if she honestly wished for information:

"Who will come to the throne in that case?"

"A cousin of a collateral line. Sturdy young fellow, cut out for the job, as fat Frederick William used to say of his second son. Besides, it's high time two such tiny countries should be united under one ruler. It will work out cheaper, simplify the administration.... It's long been the wish of the dynasty...."

"A collateral line! But what will your people have to say to that?"

He moved restlessly to the bows again.

"Our people? Of course they want to keep their independence. There's been a press campaign going on these three years, theoretical discussions, possible dying out of the line.... Princedom! Palace! Royal theatre! State carriages! Christenings! It's all so old-fashioned, so ridiculous! I'll withdraw...."

"You'll do nothing of the sort, Prince Eduard!"

He stopped in his pacing. Never had he heard her speak so coldly. Did her words not sound almost like a command? There she sat before him in her deck chair, her legs crossed, her arms spread wide on either side of her along the cordage. Her eyes were fixed on his, cold and steady. Nose and chin cocked in the air, clear-cut against the dark sky; lips compressed; she seemed petrified all of a sudden, so motionless did she sit; her locks the only live thing about her, as the wind of the ship's going tossed her curls.

"There sounds the voice of conscience," thought the prince ruefully. What he said was: "My most gracious lady is pleased to speak most ungraciously."

She got up and went close to him, so close that her light skirt blew against his knees as it had when they had danced together. But how changed was she from those few hours ago when the air had been laden with music and longing, and she had looked kindly upon his wooing. Now she was steel, hard and keen and menacing, as she said with even greater intensity than before, though she never raised her voice: "For you cannot give up your country."

"Oh, what does the country matter!"

"Not just for the country's sake."

"For whose then?"

"Fate...."

"A motor car?"

"Death!"

"Well? and..."

"One does not flinch in face of death."

"I've never been frightened of him."

"You fear life: that is easier. I have always lived with death, and therefore I am mistress of my own life."

They had remained facing one another in the bows of the ship. Her demeanour was so full of implications, her speech so metallic, that he was conscience-stricken, and seemed to hear what from the first had been his own inner voice speaking through her mouth. He seized her by the shoulder.

"What do you want, Diana?"

"Your promise that you will not send in your refusal."

"Perhaps Heinrich will recover...."

"Oh, that you should hang so weighty a thing on the possibility of a 'perhaps'! Promise, tonight, here, beneath the constellation of the Scales...."

Eduard relaxed his hold on her shoulders. His lips twitched. Then he said:

"Very well, then. But only in exchange for a reciprocal promise."

"A promise from me? Oh, but I am no more than an intercessor--I might as well be a priest!"

"No. It is to you alone that I will promise, and only then if you will give me..."

"No, no!"

"Please, Diana! You must! You must now!"

He folded her in his arms. All at once her mind was in a whirl; she felt weak, and tried to get herself in hand; she laid her chin on his shoulder, looking up at him, whispering:

"I love you; you shall have everything I have to give. Do you hear, Eduard? Everything!"

"I want more than everything, Diana."

She pulled herself free. So it was this that had made him hesitate, this that had become clear to her one morning in the monastery gardens--and it was this that she must guard, the one thing she must not part with for any consideration.

"You would deprive me of my freedom...."

He bowed his head in silence. She quitted his side, walked away to the extremity of the bows, came back again, slowly, heavily. As she reached him, he pressed her gently down into the deck chair, and, himself leaning against the rail, he said: "Diana!"

"Eduard...."

"Will you hear what I have to say?"

"Speak...."

"Last night, here, on the 'Excelsior,' I drafted a letter which was ultimately intended for our little ministry at home. Herein I explained that I renounced all my claims to the crown and succession if death should unexpectedly take either of my brothers before an heir was born. My reason: I wished to wed a lady of birth and standing, though not one of royal blood. I was merely awaiting your promise before posting the letter. Tonight, however, the issue has taken a threatening turn: tomorrow, I may become heir to the throne. If you want me to give you the pledge you have asked for, my condition is that you enter into a morganatic union with me. No religious ceremony. Only a civil marriage. Now the choice lies with you."

He had, at the last, spoken quite dispassionately, with an almost froward emphasis, for he wished to conceal his inner agitation behind the mask of his habitual irony. But she took no notice of his decoy.

"You shall have everything," she responded gravely, "but I must keep my liberty."

He paced the deck in uncontrollable agitation. Then he came again to where she sat, and said jerkily:

"So you imagine that I am going to tolerate that Diana de Wassilko shall become the mistress of a petty prince!"

She got to her feet, and, raising her eyebrows, said: "It pleases Your Highness to revert to the language of courts."

"That's where you would have me be, Mademoiselle."

"But I could not follow you there."

"That's why I shall have to leave Berlin in order to follow you whither your caprice may take you!"

"I shall be alone if I so desire."

"And I shall be awaiting you in your room when you return at night."

"At night you will be the slave of your writing-table or of your reception rooms."

"Diana!" His voice betrayed how forlorn he felt.

"Well?"

"I beg of you..."

"What do you wish me to do?"

He pressed her back in her chair, threw himself at her feet, clasping her and unclasping her, as he whispered:

"I love you. I have always been alone. I don't want to hesitate for ever; you might go away. And yet, if I remain free, you must remain free too, at my side; the ring means nothing, and I don't wish to bind you. But if... Over there is a tiny country which I may be called upon to rule. The humanly possible thing to do (a thing which no prince has ever succeeded in doing, and one which my father scarcely tried to do) would be to make some kind of humanly decent existence possible for two hundred thousand persons--but I could not do it single-handed. You once said that fate was like the owner of a slowly gyrating merry-go-round, bidding us make our choice of the many horses she offered, but that it was up to us to make our choice wisely and know without a doubt which one we would bestride. Do you remember? You said that yourself. Well, the time has come for us to make our choice. With all your wisdom, your knowledge, with so much tact, so much devotion to the work-in-hand (such as I have never seen in any minister of State), with your heart against my heart, your hand, so cool and strong, in mine--ah, thus I could venture the undertaking--if indeed it has to be!"

He bowed his head in her lap: all at once it was as if she were his mother rather than his beloved. Her hand stroked his fair, smooth hair; her eyes gazed over the sea....

Eight bells were sounded. He sprang to his feet, smiling, dodging behind her as she rose in order to walk on her right side as they strolled down the deck. They halted at the chart-room which was empty. Something gleamed from the interior. They entered.

"Hovering in a metal ring," said Diana as she leaned forward to study the compass. "To know one direction, unerringly, magnetically attracted, never to be able to deviate: only thus can one lead oneself and the others on a life's journey. Shall I abruptly steer my course north-eastward?"

She turned to him, laying her hand upon his shoulder. He clasped her to him in a passionate, unending kiss.