Читать книгу Nilda - Edwin Doidge - Страница 8

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"Listen to this, please, Dad—'Germany's power. We know that the German's have a law, which, when all the ships under it have been completed, will have their navy more powerful than any at present in existence. We know that, but we do not know the rate at which the provisions of this Act are to be carried into execution. We now expect that four German ships of the 1908-9 programme will be completed, not in February, 1911, but in the autumn of 1910. I am informed, moreover, that the construction of——'"

"Who said that?" demanded Mr. Horton across the tea-table, to which they had just sat down, a comparatively happy family, just after the arrival of Miss Chester.

"One of the members of the Imperial Government."

"How long ago was that?"

"In the early part of 1909," Tom discovered upon reading the introduction to the above lines; and it was under the heading, "Did England have fair warning to be ready for such an ordeal as a war with the German Empire?"

Tom, full of the subject, was for reading further, but his mother, moving at the moment at the back of his chair, quietly laid hold of the paper, folded it, and placed it upon the couch, with a gentle reminder that there was a time for all things; and then, addressing her remarks particularly to Miss Chester, said, "Isn't this dreadful, this awful war? I suppose we shall hear and talk of nothing else till the matter is settled."

"Till the matter is settled," re-echoed Mr. Horton, contemplatively. "I am afraid, mother, there will be vast accounts to settle before that happens. There will be many vacant chairs, many desolate homes, much blood and treasure spilled before we reach the end."

"It is too terrible to think of." It was Nilda who spoke, and then she added, "I used to like the Germans, but now I am afraid I hate them. Is there, Mr. Horton, any justification, really, for declaring war against England?"

"Most Britishers say there is not," Mr. Horton made answer, "and, happily for us, the independent Press of the world declare as much."

"By-the-by," said the head of the family, "it is by way of being a rather queer coincidence, but Mr. Summers is to be with us for an hour this evening, and he spoke of bringing a young German along with him. So, Miss Chester," he continued with a meaning glance, remembering what she had just remarked concerning Germans in general, "you will perhaps relax a little to this particular German, as becomes one of the hostesses."

"Since you put it that way, Mr. Horton, I will remember my duty to a guest, if permitted to meet Mr.——"

"Mr. Gunsler, I think Mr. Summers called him."

* * * *

It was later in the evening when the guests arrived. Mr. Summers introduced young Mr. Gunsler as a young gentleman recently from Germany, with some idea of making his home in Australia, but immediately for the purpose of introducing into the Commonwealth certain new styles of machines.

* * * *

Even as the streets rang with war cries, and groups of idlers at every corner had one thing in common to debate or discuss, so in every drawing-room, bar, and cottage in the country was the all-dominant theme on men's tongues the same—war between two nations which had never yet sprang at each other's throats.

Strangest thing of all, that the German in our midst, even the non-naturalised, was not yet ostracised or refused social recognition. Here was a phase of the magnanimity which marked the Briton abroad. The war was the act of the Emperor, or of the Reichstag, or the Government; it was surely not the commoners' war. To some extent that was the impression left by Mr. Gunsler.

In quite an impersonal—almost impartial—manner he discussed the situation, yet fearlessly. He could talk, too, and though his English was not perfect, and he paused at times for a word, ere twenty minutes, he was the centre of the circle of listeners.

"You say, Mr. Horton, this war is unnatural, undefendable—ah, indefensible (I thank you)? You look at it only from the Englishman's standpoint. Let me speak to you of the German aspect—from a point of view you may not have considered. It is unnatural, you say, for a son of an English Princess to attack his mother's homeland. WHAT IF OUR EMPEROR REGARDS HIMSELF AS ENGLAND'S LAWFUL SOVEREIGN? . . . You protest; yes, yes; but listen: Was he not the eldest child of the eldest of Queen Victoria's children? Yes."

Mr. Horton: "But that does not entitle him to succession! The daughter of a Sovereign does not succeed where there are sons."

"Did not Queen Victoria succeed when there were possible male aspirants to the Throne of England?"

Mr. Horton: "In any case, the claim, all claims, of the Princess Royal were surrendered by her to succeed to the British Throne when she married your Prince Frederick; and that applies also to her issue."

"Ah, you are speaking from the English side again. That does not disturb my contention. You are not under the Salic law, which was the fundamental law of the French monarchy, excluding females from the monarchy. Therefore, in German eyes, the right of Emperor William, Queen Victoria's eldest grandson, is good and valid."

Mr. Horton: "Make your mind easy then on that score. Britishers will never consent to having a German monarch rule over them while they have a Prince of their own to place upon the Throne."

But Mr. Gunsler was not to be put off. "An English Prince?" he queried.

"Yes, an English Prince!"

"Do you forget that after all they are German Princes? Think of the Georges during the past 200 years. Did you not send for Sophia's son to be your King, because he had in him a strain of James I.; but his right and title was through his mother and his grandmother, Elizabeth of Palatine? Think how German was George; likewise how utterly German his son, who was your George II. Do you remember when Sir Robert Walpole hastened to announce the death of his father? He said, 'I have the honor to announce to your Majesty that your Royal father, King George I., died at Osnaburg on Saturday last, the 10th inst.' He replied, 'Dat is one big lie!'"

"Oh, that is right enough; we do not dispute the German blood in the House of Guelph; but that does not make them the less rightful occupants of the English Throne." At the same moment he shifted uneasily in his chair, and looked to the others, as if for help, for he did not pride himself particularly on his intimacy with English history, which this sprig of a German seemed to have at his finger-ends.

Tom, who had listened intently, thought he saw an opportunity for a remark; but it did not help his father's argument somehow. He ventured to think that perhaps the disturbed and trying time of the Charleses, of Mary, of Pretender and Protector, combined to make such an unhappy condition of affairs as to justify the introduction of the House of Hanover to rule over the destinies of England.

"Quite so," smiled Mr. Gunsler. "It all seemed inevitable. But a greater House than that of Hanover is willing to take up the government of your country, which, though not reduced to the sorry condition of 200 years ago, has, may I venture to say, still much left to be desired in order to get stable, settled government. Your system of party government—is it not ever a state of flux? Your Lords and Commons—are they quite satisfactory? Has not the country these two, three years been torn, disturbed, distressed by the dissensions between them?"

"You are quite mistaken, sir," broke in Mr. Horton, with some heat. "The British form of government—which is the people's government, of the people, by the people, for the people—is the highest and best exemplification of democratic government which the world has produced; as the British Parliament, which is the mother of all Parliaments, has been the admiration of the modern civilised world."

Mr. Gunsler noted the warmth of feeling which accompanied this patriotic outburst. He slightly shifted his ground. "Consider," he said, "the place of power and authority in the world the Teuton and the Briton combined as one Power would occupy; under one head and authority, it could dictate its will to the world."

"Precisely," replied Mr. Horton, again in his even terms. "That appears to be the German ambition. It was never England's."

"Yet England and her Dominions in every sea has come to be called 'a world Power.'"

"Granted; that distinction came to it, not so much that it was desired as deserved; and no British Sovereign has strutted about shaking a mailed fist!"

Mr. Gunsler took no offence, apparently; rather there was an amused smile as he meditatively observed, "William ('of immortal memory to be') is half John Bull, and the world at large counts J.B. to be pugnacious!"

"As you will see before this war is ended! This war on which your people have entered as of malice prepense. This war, planned and prepared for in cold-blood—with a coolness almost diabolic—without immediate just cause or incentive; surely it is a thing unheard of: to so strenuously prepare for war during several years, and then fasten on to a nominal casus belli! . . . Oh, it makes my blood boil!"

It was clear that the atmosphere was becoming sulphurous.

Mr. Summers, who had been reclining a little apart, content to be a listener, drew a little nearer, and, in a momentary pause which ensued, had a mind to divert conversation into another channel; but his host had no mind to be diverted. "I say it makes my blood boil," he reiterated, and it was pointedly said to the young German.

"I am in the house of an Australian and a loyal subject of King George. I am aware that it is only by your courtesy we can rationally discuss this matter."

"Of course, of course, sir. Don't suppose I am angry with you, or riled with anything you have said. Come now, since you have mentioned King George, will you join us in drinking his good health?" saying which Mr. Horton moved to the sideboard and produced glasses and decanter, for they had not yet moved from the dining-room. "His good health," said Mr. Gunsler, as his host named the King.

"That reminds me," remarked Mr. Horton, as he set down the glass, "that about two years ago, just about the very time Edward the Great died in fact, I heard an expression of opinion to the effect that the German Emperor would not make war on England while his uncle Edward lived, because of a real affection he entertained for him, as for his grandmother. The upshot of events goes to indicate the truth of the observation."

"I do not know as to that," was Mr. Gunsler's reply.

"Would you mind telling me this—when you left Germany recently, did you gather anything which would enable you to say, or, shall I put it, which would justify you to say, if there were German designs on Australia?"

"I have lived in England since being in Germany," came evasively from Mr. Gunsler, and Mr. Horton did not press the question, since a moment's consideration told him he was not likely to get a candid answer.

They were still standing, the three men, gathered by the table, when Mr. Summers, lifting as by accident a book from a shelf hard-by, drew attention to its cover. "Look here, Gunsler, at these flags—entwined." It was marked 'Souvenir of the American Fleet's visit to the Commonwealth of Australia, 1908.' "Look at those flags, standing for one hundred and fifty million white men, speaking the same language—English; having the closest bonds of commercial relationship; the same ideals very largely, notwithstanding one is Monarchical the other Republican. I tell you these flags bound here in peace, with Edward on one side and Roosevelt on the other, will yet be found together, and that before long, should circumstances warrant, firmly welded in that blood and iron of which your noble Bismarck spoke. Numerically, all the world knows that Britain is not a match for Germany as matters stand at the moment. But take it from me, Emperor William will never rule in England, even if the worst happens."

"What will be the worst?"

"The smashing of the British Navy, and with it the removal of the policemen of the highway of the seas; then confusion—chaos—heaven knows what!"

"Even yet, if England concedes what is demanded, the worst may be avoided," said the German.

"Never," said Mr. Horton. "What do you take us for?"

"There are many in Germany, some in England, who believed England would give in at the last moment and not fight."

"Some in England! I do not believe it! They are not Englishmen, I'll bet. Can you name one?"

Deliberately—and it showed something of the man this German was, something, too, of the marvellous methodical ways of his class and people—Mr. Gunsler produced a pocket-book, and, under date of May 1st, 1910, were these words, taken from a printed paper:—"You are in no position to resist us. . . . Mr. Villiers went on to point out that Germany's available forces would be so much greater than those of Britain that the latter would give in without entering upon a hopeless struggle."

"Villiers! Who, then, is Villiers? Ah, but I remember, a war correspondent."

"Yes, a very noted war correspondent," continued Mr. Gunsler.

"If he really made use of those words he ought to be tied to a cart-tail," came bitterly from Mr. Horton. "But I should like to know the context; I fancy we should have quite a different complexion to that picture."

"I happen to remember the circumstances," Mr. Gunsler went on. "Mr. Villiers was speaking at a reception tendered to him by the Canadian Club, and said, with reference to the international outlook, that the prospect was that Germany might attain dominance without having to go to war. She would strengthen her armaments until she could say to Britain, 'You are in no position to resist us!'"

"Then he ought to be shot on sight! No position to resist, eh? That shows all Villiers knew of Britain's history and Britain's sons. When did the boys of the bull-dog breed ever funk a fight that was forced on them? I tell you that is just the time they can and will fight. Then the devil in them is roused. You fellows think of the fight the British made a few years ago in South Africa. It was no war in the ordinary sense of the word. For one reason the enemy, gallant and plucky as they were, would not stand up, but were ever on the move. Another thing—and greater—the heart of England's fighting machine was never in the war! You know it. But now—wait and you will see how England will fight with her back to the wall! Great Cæsar, but it will be terrible! Blood will flow like water on land and sea. For your people and ours are of the same stock, practically, and almost of the same calibre. Grim determination sits upon the brow of the German Eagle, and they will never know when they are beaten; will not admit it till bruised and blackened and battered almost out of recognition!"

"Have you not considered how impossible that is in regard to any war between Germany and England?" quietly commented Mr. Gunsler. "All that might happen if it were possible for British forces to invade German territory in, say, equal numbers; but, as your troops are in the proportion of one to 15, what chance is there?"

Mr. Horton sank back in a chair with an angry frown. It was Mr. Summers who took up the running with this observation: "Upon my word, Gunsler, hearing it put that way sounds very like the bully's attack on the little fellow! But, depend upon this, there is no bully big enough to intimidate the British Empire. The world's sympathy—save in narrow circles where hate pre-occupies—will range on the side of the British in this war. Your national pride will make you go through with it, I'm afraid; but mark this, the day has gone by for ever, I believe, when the principle 'Might is right' can any longer hold the field, or justify the attempted sticking up of a nation, or the wholesale murder of that nation."

"Very good, my friend," (from the German); "very good philosophy for the nation that has collared all the picked spots of the earth's surface, and then, being satiated, preaches 'Right is might.' But the time has come when the German Empire must expand, as your Empire has expanded; she has formulated her programme, and England must not stand in the way."

"But by heaven she will, she must, stand in the way!" cried Mr. Horton, once more rushing into the breach. "Your Government think to repeat the humiliation of France during the Morocco trouble, when Germany threatened to invade France unless M. Delcassie were compelled to resign. He was shunted. You scored equally in the humiliation of Russia during the squabble re the Balkans. In both those cases the mere presentation of the 'mailed fist' answered the purpose. But it won't work with John Bull, and you ought to know it."

"Perhaps we do know it, Mr. Horton, and yet must pursue."

Here the discussion was broken in upon by Master Tom, who said the Mater wished to know when the gentlemen were coming into the drawing-room?

"Certainly, now—with your permission, Mr. Horton,"—and Mr. Gunsler accompanied Tom to an adjoining room.

The other two remained for a time where they were.

"Let us have a pipe," suggested Mr. Horton to his friend; "we'll smoke the calumet of peace—at least we two can do that," agreed Mr. Summers.

"Yes, by the way, Summers, why did you bring this German fellow here?"

"He wished to come."

"Why should he wish to come here?"

"Strange to say, he wished to meet Nilda."

"He wished to meet Miss Chester! And, again, why?"

"As to that I am not quite clear. Somehow he has heard about her, and—well, Nilda may have struck him as a fine-looking girl, which she is, you know."

"But, she has been no length of time with us, and I fail to see how——But it does not signify. I happen to know that Miss Chester does not like Germans, and I like her the better for that." . . . Then, after a pause—for Mr. Summers never rushed conversation, and was so much at home with the Hortons that he did not need to 'make conversation' for conversation's sake—"do I understand, Summers, there is some mystery about our new governess?"

"Well, to be frank, there is. We say little about it; partly for her sake. She hates to be the subject of any discussion on the matter. I beg you will remember this. Do you remember that years ago I told you something of her history? . . . No? . . . But I did. You were one of a very few to whom I did mention the matter. Her mother was a distant relative of mine; and that was how I became her ward. There was just a trifle of property left, the interest on which was to keep Nilda, but it has not been drawn; it accrues, and will be a dot—a small one, certainly—when she needs it. That is also a secret—which, no doubt, you will likewise discreetly forget that I ever mentioned. But since you have asked, and have some right to know, there is a far deeper secret; it concerns her birth. She passes under the name of Chester, her mother's married name; but I have reason to believe it is not her right name."

"Then Miss Chester is a come-by-chance!"

"It may be so. I am trusting you, you see; I will trust you all the way, because I know you are not the man to turn dog on any young lady who is the mere child of circumstance, or, say, of misfortune. The story is altogether a romantic one. The real facts may never be known. But as presented to me by Nilda's mother herself, when very near her end, and with absolutely no purpose to serve in deceiving me, the father of Nilda actually went through some kind of marriage service with her mother. They lived together for a short time; then he left, never to return. I do not know that he was ever even heard of again; but he left some little thing behind him which seems to have indicated that he was no ordinary kind of wayfarer, traveller, or adventurer. In fact, that he was a young German of very high standing, 'a scion of a noble house,' as we say of English lordlings. When I asked Mrs. Chester what proof she had of this—pointing out the future of her child might largely depend on this—for some reason she would not speak further on the matter. It was better, she said, to leave it so. Now, whether or not Nilda has some knowledge of this beyond what I possess, I cannot say. I once thought she had; but, as I have said, she is so reluctant to speak of it."

"Hum," speculated Mr. Horton. "It looks bad for the father, noble or ignoble, whatever he was. You think the mother never made known to him what had happened?"

"Again, as to that I cannot say. There were reasons, I fancy, why she would keep silent about it. Once, long ago, there was a whispered word that Mrs. Chester had received, through a Continental bank, a fairly substantial amount of money. Whether she did or not, or whether she kept it or returned it, I am unable to say. There you have the history of Miss Chester, so far as I know it."

"It is a queer story," commented Mr. Horton. "And you, I understand, have reared the girl as your own?"

"Since quite a little thing Nilda has been with us, and always regarded as one of the family. She need never have sought another home; but somehow she grew restless and desired a change. I really believe it was the independent spirit of the girl which made her wish to be in a way of earning her own living. Say, friend, you will not mention her secret, even to Mrs. Horton?"

"That is safe enough, never fear."

It was but a moment or two later that the subject of this conversation came quickly into the room, with just the most perfunctory kind of tap upon the door.

"Uncle!" (he was not really uncle, but it was a time-honored privilege between them), "really you must come and take that German off my hands, or I shall have to go to my room, instanta!" This was half in play, but apparently quite as much in earnest.

"Off your hands, Nilly? Why off your hands, which, by the way, don't seem crushed, or reddened, or anything out of the common." This he said as he took her hand in his over the back of his chair and held it.

"He would have me play a German piece, though I declared I did not know it. Then he talked and talked at me—to me; and I'm sure I don't want to monopolise either him or his conversation. . . . So I simply had to break away. And I made an excuse that I did not know if it would be agreeable to Mr. Horton that he should sing a German song the way, the way things are going!" faltered Miss Chester.

"Quite right, girly; your good taste was always in evidence, I remember."

"What does he want to sing?" demanded Mr. Horton.

"Well, he did not exactly want to sing, Mr. Horton; but Mrs. Horton proposed it; and in looking over the music Mr. Gunsler came across 'Good Rhine Wine,' and seemed so pleased; he said if I would play it, he would try to sing it."

"A jolly good song, too, confound him," broke enigmatically from the master of the house, who, in years gone by had, in a rather good baritone, given voice to this semi-bacchanalian song of the land of the Kaisers.

"What say you, Summers, shall we have the evening pipe while he lutes to us?"

"As you please—nay, but for Nilly's sake if you please—seeing she does not seem anxious for any further tete-a-tete with this good-looking follow I brought along.". . . Then, "he is rather fine looking, don't you think, Nilly?"

"I do not think him fine at all. But I daresay he is of that opinion himself, and I cannot bear men who think they are perfectly charming."

"Well said, Miss Chester, well said," cried Mr. Horton; "and if you will permit to say it, I think we shall be good friends, Miss Chester. Come along, then, let us test the vocal chords of this son of Rhineland. Perchance I shall like his singing better than his talking."

As the three walked from the room together, Mr. Summers whispered, "Shall we say a truce to war-talk?"

"That is also well said," agreed Mr. Horton.

And, to do him justice, Mr. Gunsler sang the 'Rhine Wine' song very well, and another, and, before he left, had rather established himself in the good graces of the family, especially, perhaps, with Mrs. Horton, who said she thought Mr. Gunsler a very accomplished and gentlemanly young man.

"And what does Miss Constance think of him," playfully questioned Mr. Horton, very directly, to that young lady.

"He doesn't impress me," was the answer laconic.