CHAPTER XVII

Scandal, meanwhile, was collecting her eager forces for a great campaign

against the Orange marriage. It was unanimously decided that the affair

could not be hushed up. Sympathy--within wise limits--was on the side of

the lovers, but sympathy, nevertheless, expressed a desire to hear

fuller particulars. Society journalism was, at that time, just coming

into vogue, and the weekly papers contained several references to the

strange rumour of an approaching divorce. Hartley Penborough and the

members of the Capitol Club were wondering what line they ought to take.

They intended to stand by Robert, but they did not wish to advertise

their loyalty. The Carlton set were divided into two camps--those who

thought Orange unlucky, and those who thought him an alien adventurer.

So far as these opinions touched his career, both were damaging. The

friends of Lord Wight and Lady Fitz Rewes had always been jealous of the

young man. They discussed him now with ferocious pity, announcing his

ruin in every circle. Sara de Treverell's associates were mostly of the

Diplomatic Corps. These, well informed about Alberian affairs and

Parflete's history, feared much mischief. The old Catholics were

dismayed at the new convert's entanglement--especially as he had

recently been elected to Parliament. The more timorous among them--in a

panic--entertained unfounded doubts about his orthodoxy, and the rest

deplored the injudicious attention bestowed on mere recruits to the

Ancient Faith. Converts then were looked upon, in England, with a

certain suspicion. At that period the magnificent services of Dr. Newman

and Cardinal Manning were far more appreciated at Rome than they were in

the drawing-rooms of English Catholic society. Orange, following his own

instincts and the advice of Newman, avoided rather than sought the small

group which attempted to make the Eternal Church a Select Committee of

the Uncommonly Good. To one who had spent his youth in a great Catholic

nation, and came himself from one of the princely families of France,

the servitude necessarily involved by the fact of joining any

_coterie_--no matter how agreeable--could possess no sort of attraction.

His Catholic friends were chiefly among the Jesuits, an order which, by

devotion, genius, and courage, has excited that fear from all men which

is the highest homage this world can offer to integrity. His personal

sorrow, therefore, was not degraded by any foolish additional worry

about the tittle-tattle of this, that, or the other personage. Tongues

might wag; for himself, he could but do his duty and keep his account

straight with God. He hoped that a public law-suit would be avoided.

Baron Zeuill was using his influence, so he declared, to arrive at some

settlement with Parflete. Parflete's agent was now in communication with

Robert's solicitors; he himself was known to be in London, and he had

even been seen dining with foreigners at one of the small private hotels

near the Strand. The Alberian Ambassador informed Mr. Disraeli that

there was nothing to fear because Parflete was not ambitious. "The

corruption of egoism and the insatiable love of pleasure" had done its

worst to a character never striking for its energy. He would "desert"

his wife again if she would give him a sufficient sum. Mrs. Parflete,

Disraeli pointed out, was the last woman on earth to agree to such

terms. She was also perfectly well aware, he added, that she was the

legitimate daughter of the late Archduke Charles.

"But," said the Ambassador, "surely she will love the glory of her

country and the respect due to her Imperial father's memory far better

than her own legal rights?"

"You can't narrow the question to a mere sentimental issue," said

Disraeli. "It is no such thing. She has to defend her character. Orange

must clear his reputation."

Disraeli had formed the opinion that Alberia--as represented by His

Excellency--was by no means anxious to see Mrs. Parflete's innocence

established; that, in fact, the whole disaster had been planned and

executed in the sole design of compromising her status. All that had

occurred, all that he had observed led him to this conviction more and

more. It was decided that Brigit should be summoned at once from Paris

to take up her residence at the Convent, where she had been well

protected during the earlier part of the year.

"There is to be no appeal _ad misericordiam_," wrote Disraeli to

Orange: "what you have done, you have done in good faith and

perfect honesty. Parflete, beyond a doubt, will take some action.

His conscience provides him, in this difficulty, with the best

means of self-advertisement he has yet found. He has consulted

several Bishops, the Lord Chief Justice, all the ambassadors, and

most of the intelligent Peers. He wanders from one confessional to

another: St. Philip, St. Teresa, St. Benedict, and St. Dominic are

invoked perpetually for the disarmament of his scruples. Vanity

blinds him to the danger of assassination. Alberia is in a red

mood. _Carissime_, the dark, inevitable hour will come. Be prepared

for it. Depend entirely now on the might of your religious belief.

Men cannot assist you. I have helped many, but no one has ever

helped me. Political life must be taken as you find it, and it is

neither in my disposition, nor, I am sure, in yours, to indulge in

complaints of unkindness. I have reached a point now when I should

like to quote Dante. Consider him quoted, and believe me,

"Ever yours,

"D."

The course of the intrigue may be followed most conveniently at this

point in the document known as Mudara's Confession.

Mudara, it will be remembered, was in the Alberian Secret

Service.[Footnote: See The School for Saints, p. 395.] He it was who

confirmed the false news of Parflete's suicide, and did so much to

hasten Orange's marriage. He says in his narrative:--

The death of the Archduke Charles--which occurred some weeks before

it was anticipated--put the Alberian Government to very grave

embarrassment.

1. It was impossible to deny the legitimacy of the Archduchess

Marie-Brigitte-Henriette (known as Mrs. Parflete). The rumour was

officially denied, and every proper measure was taken for the

suppression of a fact dangerous at all times and especially so

during a national crisis. Had the Archduchess been so ill-advised

as to stand upon her legal rights, the case would have been very

awkward for the Government. They intended, in any event, to plead

ignorance, and had prepared every proof of their good faith in

withstanding the claim.

2. It was clear, beyond a doubt, on the highest ecclesiastical

authority, that, if application were made, the marriage between the

Archduchess and Parflete would be annulled at Rome. Parflete was

regarded with great suspicion. He was capable of any treachery. He

could not hold his tongue, and we know what that means at Court.

The one person he feared was the Archduke Charles, and now that

death had removed His Imperial Highness, we understood what to

expect from the disgraced Equerry.

3. The Government's Agents had formed a very high opinion of M. de

Hausee (known as Robert Orange). It was considered by the

Government's advisers that this gentleman would use all his

influence to crush any foolish ambition on the part of the

Archduchess Marie-Brigitte. M. de Hausee was himself of too noble a

family to care in the least for high-sounding titles or empty

rights. M. de Hausee (whose mother was Scotch) had become a British

subject, and had been elected to the English Parliament. He was

under the protection of Mr. Disraeli, had every prospect of a

brilliant political career as a Commoner, and he had too much good

sense--in view of the very large fortune settled upon the

Archduchess--to diminish it by any imprudent insistence on a claim

which, extremely valuable as a ground for some advantageous

compromise, could only prove ruinous if pressed to any exact

recognition. The Government's advisers, therefore, approved most

highly of the marriage between M. de Hausee and the Archduchess

Marie-Brigitte-Henriette, and were disposed to hasten it on by

every means. On the news, _properly authenticated_, of Parflete's

suicide on Lord Soham's yacht, I visited England and had interviews

with the Archduchess herself, with M. de Hausee at Catesby, and

with Baron Zeuill at Claridge's Hotel. The _proofs_ of Parflete's

death were in perfect order, and the marriage between M. de Hausee

and H.I.H. took place in the Chapel of the Alberian Embassy.

As I had made all the arrangements, I engaged the servants for the

reception of the bride and groom at the Villa Miraflores. I was

able to retain a small room at the back of the house for my own

use. On the day of their arrival, I concealed myself, without

difficulty, in the apartment where Mr. Orange and the Archduchess

had their _dejeuner_. It was an unfortunate circumstance that I did

not destroy the telegram which I saw on the mantel-piece. But I

supposed it contained some ordinary congratulations. A more vulgar

prudence than mine would have read and burnt it in any case. My

fault is, unquestionably, a most inopportune delicacy of feeling. I

witnessed the whole scene between Mr. Orange and Her Imperial

Highness. It brought tears to my eyes, but as evidence it was

valueless for my purpose. She wept, stormed, and showed much

feeling. I was reminded in many ways of her mother, Madame Duboc.

M. de Hausee, of purer blood, is like those players who, in spite

of an air of indifference at great losses, feel them none the less.

I consider it my duty as a gentleman to say that his bearing

through the ordeal did credit to his noble family and his personal

character. The Archduchess, who is foolhardy and insolent, does not

deserve such a lover, and it is grievous to think that such a

termagant should have so much power over such a man. I regard her

as I would some poisonous reptile. Piety--which improves most

women--only seems to render her the more defiant, and love--which

softens most wills--makes hers the more hard. After parting with M.

de Hausee she swooned, and I thought what a merciful thing it would

be for all of us if she never regained consciousness. This

idea--which may have been an inspiration--was before me, when I

heard a slight rustling behind the curtains. I pulled out my

revolver (although I had no intention of firing), aimed it, and

said, "Who is there?"

To my amazement, Parflete himself came out.

"For God's sake, don't shoot," said he, "it is I."

He cried bitterly at the sight of the Archduchess--for she was

looking extraordinarily beautiful. He cursed himself loudly, put me

to terrible anxiety, and I repented of my recklessness in not

getting rid of such a fool long ago. With great presence of mind I

rang the bell, and we withdrew to my hiding-place while the

servant came in, raised a hue and cry, and finally carried the

insensible Archduchess to a bedroom. When the coast was clear we

emerged. I asked Parflete what he meant to do, why he was there,

and how he had got into the house.

"To sound the soul of another," said he, still maudlin. "You must

first have searched deeply your own. Remorse has brought me here.

My better nature reasserts itself." And more to that effect. "There

is nothing new under the sun!" he wound up.

"Why should there be?" said I, exasperated. "Come to the point."

"My wife is the purest, noblest of beings!" said he.

"You will defend any jade on earth, provided she be handsome," said

I, but seeing an ugly light in his eye, I added, "but H.I.H. is

certainly respectable. To this we have both been witnesses."

"What is to be done?" he cried, beating his head. "Can I forget her

interests? Who, better than I, should take the place of her

adviser, her Prime Minister? Affairs in Alberia cannot long remain

in this violent state. There must be a _denouement_."

I answered him sharply.

"You know quite well that the Archduchess can never hope for

official recognition from any Alberian Ministry--let alone the

sovereigns of Europe. An aggressive attitude on her part could at

most and at the worst, but lead to these things--a change of

dynasty, and the annexation of Alberia by one of the Powers, or its

partition among some of them. We wish Alberia to become another

Switzerland--a little Paradise of law-abiding, industrious, rich,

independent people!"

"All the same," said he, "my wife may not sell her birth-right.

Such a proceeding is directly opposite to the Will of God."

"She will be a good claimant--after all this scandal with the

Carlists and de Hausee," said I. "I can imagine the welcome

extended to her by Bismarck! We have seen enough of this kind of

thing in France and Spain."

We talked for an hour. He was as obstinate as a mule and as

incoherent as running water. I could grasp him nowhere. It was like

groping in a well for a lighted torch. No doubt he had formed in

his own mind some obscure, incalculable intrigue, but no reason can

guess the plans which are made by an unreasoning person.

"The Archduchess is rich, young, and handsome," said I; "it would

be folly to change her noble independence for a political slavery

fatal to her peace--perhaps her life."

"But duty is above such weak considerations," said he, rolling his

eyes. "My wife must remember the nation."

"Do you believe," I rejoined, "that you would get the nation's

sanction to the general upset which you propose? You must be mad."

"Nations go mad," said he, smiling; "why not to my advantage, then,

as well as yours?"

He refused to tell me how he got into the house, but it must have

been by bribery. His sneers and insults were insinuated with such

skill that retaliation on the spot was impossible. He made his

escape by suddenly extinguishing the lamp, which left the room in

pitch darkness. I felt it would be undignified to stumble about in

vain pursuit of a man so active and so _canaille_ in all his

methods. He must have been on good terms with the servants, for a

considerable time elapsed before they replied to my summons, and

when I asked them, each in turn, whether he had been seen, one and

all assumed the greatest astonishment and innocence, but none

appeared in any way alarmed, which they must have done had they not

been well aware of his presence in the house. I said no more, for,

by treating the matter lightly, I made them look--to

themselves--dupes and very ridiculous. I remained at the Villa

until the Archduchess and Lady Fitz Rewes departed for Paris. I had

a short interview with M. de Hausee in my character of the late

Archduke's Agent. Our conversation was purely in connection with

H.I.H.'s money matters, although he said with great firmness at the

close, "The Archduchess will never embarrass Alberian affairs. Her

taste is not for Courts or politics." I know this is his true

conviction, but he is in love, and he measures her by his own

unselfishness. He won my heart strangely. In all my experience, he

is the one honest man who is not a little idiotic into the bargain.

I deplore the influence of women on such a character, and I would

have saved him from that Judith.

Here, for the present, we must leave Mudara's narrative.