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The Mischief Maker, a novel by E. Phillips Oppenheim |
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Book 1 - Chapter 13. Politics And Patriotism |
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_ BOOK ONE CHAPTER XIII. POLITICS AND PATRIOTISM Herr Freudenberg shrugged his shoulders and glanced at the softly-closed door. "Mademoiselle is a paragon," he declared. "Always she understands. Sir Julien, will you not sit down for a moment? Let me confess that this little supper-party is a pretense. For five minutes I wish to talk to you." Julien seated himself without hesitation. "My dear host," he said, "I left Berlin a year ago with only one hope--or rather two. The first was that I might never have to visit Berlin again! The second was that I might have the pleasure of meeting you as speedily and as often as possible." Herr Freudenberg smiled--a quiet, reminiscent smile. "Even now," he remarked, "when I would speak to you for a moment on more serious subjects, the strange humor of that round-table conference comes home to me. There were you and I and our big friend from Austria, and that awful dull man from here, and the Russian. Shall you ever forget that speechless Russian, who never opened his lips except to disagree? Sometimes I caught your eye across the table. And, Sir Julien, you know, I presume, whose was the triumph of those days?" Julien smiled doubtfully. "Yours, of course," Herr Freudenberg continued. "The Press even ventured to find fault with me. England, as usual, they declared, had gained all she desired and had given the very minimum. However, we will not waste time in reminiscences. To-day the only pleasure I have in thinking of that conference is the fact that you and I came together. When you left Berlin--I saw you off, you remember--I told those who stood around that there went the future Prime Minister of England. I believed it, and I am seldom mistaken. Tell me, what piece of transcendental ill-fortune is this which brings you here an exile?" "I committed an act of transcendental folly," Julien replied. "I have no one to blame but myself. I not only wrote an indiscreet letter, but I put my name to it. I was deceived, too, in the character of the woman to whom it was sent." "It is so trifling an error," Herr Freudenberg said thoughtfully, "made by many a man without evil results. One learns experience as one passes on in life. It is a hard price that you are paying for yours. Come, that is finished. Now answer me. What are you going to do?" Julien laughed, a little bitterly. "My friend," he answered, stretching out his hand and taking a cigarette from the open box upon the table, "you ask rather a hard question. My resignation was accepted, was even required of me. Politics and diplomacy are alike barred to me. There is no return. What is there left? I may write a book. So far as my means permit, I may travel. I may play games, take a walk in the morning, play bridge in the afternoon, eat heavily and sleep early. What is there left, Herr Freudenberg--tell me of your wisdom--for a man about whose ears has come crashing the scaffolding of his life?" Herr Freudenberg looked across at his companion, and in that dimly-lit room his eyes were bright and his lips firm. "To rebuild, my friend," he declared. "Choose another foundation and rebuild." "You recognize, I presume," Julien said, "that I require a few more details if your advice is to be of value?" "The details are here in this room," Herr Freudenberg replied firmly. "Be my man. I cannot offer you fame, because fame comes only, nowadays, to the man who serves his own country. You see, I make no pretense at deceiving you, but I offer you a life of action, I offer you such wealth as your imagination can have conceived, and I offer you revenge." "Revenge," Julien repeated, a little vaguely. "Upon the political party by whose scheming that letter was first of all elicited from you and then made public," Herr Freudenberg said slowly. "Do you imagine that it was a thoughtless act of that woman's? Do you know that her reward is to be a peerage for her husband?" "You, too, believe that it was a trap, then?" Julien remarked. "Of course. Don't you know yourself that you were a thorn in the flesh to your own party? They hated you because you were not afraid to preach war when war might have saved your country from what is to come. They hated you because you were a strong man in a strong place, and because the people believed in you. They hated you because the policy which would have been yours in the four or five years to come, would have been the policy which would have brought the country around you, which alone would have kept your party in power. You were the only figure in politics which the imperialist party in England had to fear. Mrs. Carraby--I believe that was the lady's name--is ill-paid enough with that peerage. Leave out the personal element--or leave it in, if you will, for when I speak of my country I know no friendships--but, my dear friend, let me tell you that I myself would have given more than a peerage--I would have given a principality--to the person who threw you out of English politics." Julien's eyes were bright. Somehow or other, his old dreams, his old faith in himself had returned for a moment. And then the bitterness all swept in upon him. "I think, Herr Freudenberg," he said, "that you are talking a little in the skies. At any rate, it makes no difference. Those things have passed." "Those things have passed," Herr Freudenberg assented. "There is no future for you in England. That is why I wish to rescue you from the ignominy of which you yourself have spoken. I repeat my offer. Be my man. You shall taste life and taste it in such gulps as you wish." Julien shook his head slowly. "My friend," he said, "it is the cruel part of our profession that one man's life can be given to one country alone." "Wrong!" Herr Freudenberg declared briskly. "I am not going to decry patriotism. The welfare of my country is the religion which guides my life. But you--you have no country. There is no England left for you. She has thrown you out. You are a wanderer, a man without ties or home. That is why I claim you as my man. I want to show you the way to revenge." "You puzzle me," Julien admitted. "You talk about revenge. I know you far too well to believe that you would propose to me any scheme which would involve the raising even of my little finger against the country which has turned me out." "Naturally," Herr Freudenberg agreed. "You do me no less than justice, my dear Sir Julien. What I do hope that you have firmly fixed in your mind is that I, despite your halfpenny papers, your novelists seeking for a new sensation, and your weird middle class, I, Carl Freudenberg, maker of toys, am the honest and sincere friend of England. The work which I ask you to do for me would be as much in the interests of your country as of my own, only when I say your country, I mean your country governed by the political party in which I have faith and confidence. I tell you frankly that an England governed as she is at present is a country I loathe. If I raise my hand against her--not in war, mind, but in diplomacy--if I strive to humble her to-day, it is because I would cover if I could the political party who are in power at this moment with disrepute and discredit. Why should you yourself shrink from aiding me in this task? They are the party in whose ranks--high in whose ranks, I might say--are those who stooped with baseness, with deceit unmentionable, to rid themselves of you. Therefore, I say strike. Come with me and you shall help. And when the time comes, I think I can promise you that I can show you a way back, a way which you have never guessed." Julien looked across the table long and earnestly. "Herr Freudenberg," he said, "if I answer you in the negative, it is because of your own words. The love of your country, you told me not long ago, is your religion. For her good you would make use even of those you call your friends. Now I am sincere with you. I do not know whether to trust you or not. For that reason I cannot attempt to discuss this matter with you. I do not ask even that you explain yourself." "You mean that at any rate you cannot trust me entirely?" Herr Freudenberg replied. "Well, if you had, I should have been disappointed in you. Still, I have said things that were in my heart to say to you. We send now for Mademoiselle Ixe. Before very long we talk together again." Herr Freudenberg touched the bell. A waiter appeared almost immediately. "Find mademoiselle," he ordered. "Tell her that we wait impatiently." Mademoiselle was not far away. Herr Freudenberg passed his arm through hers. "We return, I think," he said. "This little room has served its purpose." Julien on the landing tried to make his adieux, but his host only laughed at him. Mademoiselle Ixe held out her hand and led him into the room by her side. "He wishes it," she murmured softly. "He has so few nights here, one must do as he desires." The little party returned to their table in the corner. Somehow or other, their coming seemed to enliven the room. There was more spirit in the music, more animation in the conversation. Albert walked with a sprightlier step. Then Julien, in his passage down the room, received a distinct shock. He stopped short. "Kendricks, by Jove!" he exclaimed. Kendricks, sitting alone at a small table, with a bottle of champagne in front of him and a huge cigar in his mouth, waved his hand joyfully. Then he glanced at his friend's companions, frowned for a moment, and gazed fixedly at Herr Freudenberg. "Julien, by all that's lucky!" he called out. "And I haven't been in Paris four hours! I called at your hotel and they told me you were out. Sit down." "I am not alone," Julien began to explain,-- Herr Freudenberg turned round. "You must present your friend," he declared. "He must join us." Julien hesitated for a moment. "Kendricks," he said, "this is my friend, Herr Freudenberg." The two men shook hands. Kendricks as yet had scarcely taken his eyes off Herr Freudenberg's face. "I am glad to meet you, sir," he remarked. "It is odd, but your face seems familiar to me." Herr Freudenberg leaned over the table. "My friend, Mr. Kendricks," he said, "you are, I believe, a newspaper man, and you should know the world. When you see a face that is familiar to you in Paris, and in this Paris, it goes well that you forget that familiarity, eh?" Kendricks nodded. "It is sound," he agreed. "I will join you, with pleasure." "Mademoiselle," Herr Freudenberg continued, "permit me to introduce my new friend, Mr. Kendricks. Mr. Kendricks--Mademoiselle Ixe. We will now begin, if it is your pleasure, to spend the evening. There is room in our corner, Mr. Kendricks. Come there, and presently Mademoiselle Ixe will sing to us, mademoiselle with the yellow hair there will dance, the orchestra shall play their maddest music. This is Paris and we are young. Ah, my friends, it comes to us but seldom to live like this!" They all sat down together. Herr Freudenberg gave reckless orders for more wine. The _chef d'orchestre_ was at his elbow, Albert hovered in the background. Kendricks leaned over and whispered in his friend's ear. "Julien, who is our friend?" "A manufacturer of toys from Leipzig," Julien answered grimly. "The toys that giants play with!" Kendricks muttered. "I have never forgotten a face in my life." "Then forget this one for a moment," Julien advised him quickly. "This is not a night for memories. I have lived with the ghosts of them long enough." Their party became larger. The little dancing girl came to drink wine with them and remained to listen to Herr Freudenberg. A friend of Mademoiselle Ixe--a tall, fair girl in a blue satin gown--detached herself from her friends and joined them. Herr Freudenberg, with his arm resting lightly around Mademoiselle Ixe's waist, talked joyously and incessantly. It was not until some one lifted the blind and discovered that the sun was shining that they spoke of a move. Then, as the _vestiaire_ came hurrying up with their coats and wraps, Herr Freudenberg lifted his glass. "One last toast!" he cried. "Dear Marguerite, my friends, all of you--to the sun which calls us to work, to the moon which calls us to pleasure, to the love that crowds our hearts!" He raised his companion's hand to his lips and drew her arm through his. "Come," he cried, "to the streets! We will take our coffee from the stall of Madame Huber." _ |
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