Sophy of Kravonia: A Novel

by Anthony Hope

  I

  THE NAME-DAY OF THE KING

  The ancient city of Slavna, for a thousand years or more and under manydynasties the capital of Kravonia, is an island set in a plain. It liesin the broad valley of the Krath, which at this point flows due east.Immediately above the city the river divides into two branches, known asthe North and the South rivers; Slavna is clasped in the embrace ofthese channels. Conditioned by their course, its form is not circular,but pear-shaped, for they bend out in gradual broad curves to theirgreatest distance from one another, reapproaching quickly after thatpoint is passed till they meet again at the end--or, rather, what wasoriginally the end--of the city to the east; the single reunited rivermay stand for the stalk of the pear.

  In old days the position was a strong one; nowadays it is obviously muchless defensible; and those in power had recognized this fact in twoways--first by allocating money for a new and scientific system offortifications; secondly by destroying almost entirely the ancient andout-of-date walls which had once been the protection of the city. Partof the wall on the north side, indeed, still stood, but where it hadescaped ruin it was encumbered and built over with warehouses andwharves; for the North River is the channel of commerce and the mediumof trade with the country round about. To the south the wall has beenentirely demolished, its site being occupied by a boulevard, onto whichfaces a line of handsome modern residences--for as the North River isfor trade, so the South is for pleasure--and this boulevard has beencarried across the stream and on beyond the old limits of the city, andruns for a mile or farther on the right bank of the reunited Krath,forming a delightful and well-shaded promenade where the citizens areaccustomed to take their various forms of exercise.

  Opposite to it, on the left bank, lies the park attached to the Palace.That building itself, dating from 1820 and regrettably typical of thestyle of its period, faces the river on the left bank just where thestream takes a broad sweep to the south, giving a rounded margin to theKing's pleasure-grounds. Below the Palace there soon comes open countryon both banks. The boulevard merges in the main post-road to Volseni andto the mountains which form the eastern frontier of the kingdom. At thisdate, and for a considerable number of years afterwards, the onlyrailway line in Kravonia did not follow the course of the Krath (whichitself afforded facilities for traffic and intercourse), but ran downfrom the north, having its terminus on the left bank of the North River,whence a carriage-bridge gave access to the city.

  To vote money is one thing, to raise it another, and to spend it on thedesignated objects a third. Not a stone nor a sod of the new forts wasyet in place, and Slavna's solitary defence was the ancient castle whichstood on the left bank of the river just at the point of bisection,facing the casino and botanical gardens on the opposite bank.Suleiman's Tower, a relic of Turkish rule, is built on a simple plan--asquare curtain, with a bastion at each corner, encloses a massivecircular tower. The gate faces the North River, and a bridge, whichadmits of being raised and lowered, connects this outwork with the northwall of the city, which at this point is in good preservation. The fortis roomy; two or three hundred men could find quarters there; andalthough it is, under modern conditions, of little use against an enemyfrom without, it occupies a position of considerable strength withregard to the city itself. It formed at this time the headquarters andresidence of the Commandant of the garrison, a post held by the heir tothe throne, the Prince of Slavna.

  In spite of the flatness of the surrounding country, the appearance ofSlavna is not unpicturesque. Time and the hand of man (the people are acolor-loving race) have given many tints, soft and bright, to the roofs,gables, and walls of the old quarter in the north town, over whichSuleiman's Tower broods with an antique impressiveness. Behind thepleasant residences which border on the southern boulevard lie handsomestreets of commercial buildings and shops, these last again glowing withdiversified and gaudy colors. In the centre of the city, where, but forits bisection, we may imagine the Krath would have run, a pretty littlecanal has been made by abstracting water from the river and conductingit through the streets. On either side of this stream a broad road runs.Almost exactly midway through the city the roads broaden and open intothe spacious Square of St. Michael, containing the cathedral, the fineold city hall, several good town-houses dating two or three hundredyears back, barracks, and the modern but not unsightly Governmentoffices. Through this square and the streets leading to it from westand east there now runs an excellent service of electric cars; but atthe date with which we are concerned a crazy fiacre or a crazier omnibuswas the only public means of conveyance. Not a few good privateequipages were, however, to be seen, for the Kravonians have been fromof old lovers of horses. The city has a population bordering on ahundred thousand, and, besides being the principal depot and centre ofdistribution for a rich pastoral and agricultural country, it transactsa respectable export trade in hides and timber. It was possible for acareful man to grow rich in Slavna, even though he were not a politiciannor a Government official.

  Two or three years earlier, an enterprising Frenchman of the name ofRousseau had determined to provide Slavna with a first-rate modern hoteland _cafe_. Nothing could have consorted better with the views of KingAlexis Stefanovitch, and Monsieur Rousseau obtained, on very favorableterms, a large site at the southeast end of the city, just where theNorth and South rivers reunite. Here he built his hostelry and named it_pietatis causa_, the Hotel de Paris. A fine terrace ran along the frontof the house, abutting on the boulevard and affording a pleasant view ofthe royal park and the Palace in the distance on the opposite bank.

  On this terrace, it being a fine October morning, sat Sophy, drinking acup of chocolate.

  The scene before her, if not quite living up to the name of the hotel,was yet animated enough. A score of handsome carriages drove by, somecontaining gayly dressed ladies, some officers in smart uniforms. Otherofficers rode or walked by; civil functionaries, journalists, and astraggling line of onlookers swelled the stream which set towards thePalace. Awaking from a reverie to mark the unwonted stir, Sophy saw theleaders of the informal procession crossing the ornamental iron bridgewhich spanned the Krath, a quarter of a mile from where she sat, andgave access to the King's demesne on the left bank.

  "Right bank--left bank! It sounds like home!" she thought to herself,smiling perhaps rather bitterly. "Home!" Her home now was a single roomover a goldsmith's shop, whither she had removed to relieve MarieZerkovitch from a hospitality too burdensome, as Sophy feared, for herexisting resources to sustain.

  The reverie bore breaking; it had been none too pleasant; in it sadmemories disputed place with present difficulties. Some third or soremained of Lady Meg's hundred-pound note. Necessity had forced a use ofthe money at any cost to pride. When all was gone, Sophy would have todepend on what is so often a last and so often a vain refuge--theteaching of French; it was the only subject which she could claim toteach. Verily, it was a poor prospect; it was better to look at theofficers and the ladies than to think of it--ay, better than to think ofCasimir and of what lay in the past. With her strong will she strove tosteel herself alike against recollection and against apprehension.

  The _cafe_ was nearly deserted; the hour was too early for the citizens,and Sophy's own chocolate had been merely an excuse to sit down. Yetpresently a young officer in a hussar uniform stopped his horse oppositethe door, and, giving over the reins to an orderly who attended him,nimbly dismounted. Tall and fair, with a pleasant, open face, he worehis finery with a dashing air, and caressed a delicate, upturnedmustache as he glanced round, choosing his seat. The next moment headvanced towards Sophy; giving her a polite salute, he indicated thelittle table next to hers.

  "Mademoiselle permits?" he asked. "She has, I fear, forgotten, but Ihave the honor to be an acquaintance of hers."

  "I remember," smiled Sophy. "Captain Markart? We met at MadameZerkovitch's."

  "Oh, that's pleasant of you!" he cried. "I hate being clean forgotten.But I fear you remember me only because I sang so bad
ly!"

  "I remember best that you said you wanted to go and help France, butyour General wouldn't let you."

  "Ah, I know why you remember that--you especially! Forgive me--ourfriend Marie Zerkovitch told me." He turned away for a moment to give anorder to the waiter.

  "What's going on to-day?" asked Sophy. "Where's everybody going?"

  "Why, you are a stranger, mademoiselle!" he laughed. "It's the King'sname-day, and we all go and congratulate him."

  "Is that it? Are you going?"

  "Certainly; in attendance on my General--General Stenovics. My lodgingsare near here, his house at the other end of the boulevard, so he gaveme leave to meet him here. I thought I would come early and fortifymyself a little for the ordeal. To mademoiselle's good health!" Helooked at her with openly admiring eyes, to which tribute Sophy accordeda lazy, unembarrassed smile. She leaned her chin on her hand, turningher right cheek towards him. Sophy was never disdainful, neverneglectful; her pose now was good.

  "What sort of a man is the King?" she asked.

  "The King is most emphatically a very good sort of fellow--a very goodold fellow. I only wish his son was like him! The Prince is a Tartar.Has he gone by yet?"

  "I don't think so. I suppose he'd have an escort, wouldn't he? I don'tknow him by sight yet. Does everybody call the King a good fellow?"

  "Some people are so extremely righteous!" pleaded Markart, ruefully."And, anyhow, he has reformed now."

  "Because he's old?"

  "Fifty-nine! Is that so very old? No; I rather attribute it--you'rediscreet, I hope? I'm putting my fortunes in your hands--to Madame laComtesse."

  "The Countess Ellenburg? Marie has told me something about her."

  "Ah! Madame Zerkovitch is a friend of hers?"

  "Not intimate, I think. And is the Countess oppressively respectable,Captain Markart?"

  "Women in her position always are," said the Captain, with an affectedsigh: his round, chubby face was wrinkled with merriment. "You see, amorganatic marriage isn't such a well-established institution here as insome other countries. Oh, it's legal enough, no doubt, if it's agreed toon that basis. But the Stefanovitches have in the past often madenon-royal marriages--with their own subjects generally. Well, there wasnobody else for them to marry! Alexis got promotion in his firstmarriage--an Italian Bourbon, which is always respectable, if not verybrilliant. That gave us a position, and it couldn't be thrown away. Sothe second marriage had to be morganatic. Only--well, women areambitious, and she has a young son who bears the King's name--a boytwelve years old."

  He looked reflectively at his polished boots. Sophy sat in thoughtfulsilence. A jingle of swords and the clatter of hoofs roused them. Atroop of soldiers rode by. Their uniform was the same smart tunic oflight blue, with black facings, as adorned Captain Markart's shapelyperson.

  "Ah, here's the Prince!" said Markart, rising briskly to his feet. Sophyfollowed his example, though more in curiosity than respect.

  The young man at the head of the troop returned Markart's salute, butwas apparently unconscious of the individual from whom it proceeded. Herode by without turning his head or giving a glance in the direction ofthe _cafe_ terrace. Sophy saw a refined profile, with a straight nose,rather short, and a pale cheek: there was little trace of the Bourbonside of the pedigree.

  "He's on his promotion, too," continued the loquacious and irreverentCaptain, as he resumed his seat. "They want a big fish forhim--something German, with a resounding name. Poor fellow!"

  "Well, it's his duty," said Sophy.

  "Somebody who'll keep the Countess in order, eh?" smiled Markart,twirling his mustache. "That's about the size of it, I expect, thoughnaturally the General doesn't show me his hand. I only tell you commongossip."

  "I think you hardly do yourself justice. You've been very interesting,Captain Markart."

  "I tell you what," he said, with an engaging candor, "I believe thatsomehow the General makes me chatter just to the extent he wants me to,and then stops me. I don't know how he does it; it's quite unconsciouson my part. I seem to say just what I like!"

  They laughed together over this puzzle. "You mean General Stenovics?"asked Sophy.

  "Yes, General Stenovics. Ah, here he is!" He sprang up again and made alow bow to Sophy. "Au revoir, mademoiselle. A thousand thanks!"

  He saluted her and hurried to the side of the pavement. GeneralStenovics rode up, with two orderlies behind him. Saluting again,Markart mounted his horse. The General brought his to a stand and waitedthe necessary moment or two with a good-humored smile. His eye wanderedfrom the young officer to the presumable cause of his lack of vigilance.Sophy felt the glance rest on her face. In her turn she saw a stout,stumpy figure, clad in a rather ugly dark-green uniform, and a heavy,olive-tinted face adorned with a black mustache and a stubbly graybeard. General Stenovics, President of the Council of Ministers, was notan imposing personage to the outward view. But Sophy returned the regardof his prominent pale-blue eyes (which sorted oddly with the complexionof his face) with vivid attention. The General rode on, Markartfollowing, but turning in his saddle to salute once more and to wave hishand in friendly farewell.

  For the first time since her arrival in Slavna, Sophy was conscious of astir of excitement. Life had been dull and heavy; the mind had enjoyedlittle food save the diet of sad memories. To-day she seemed to bebrought into sight of living interests again. They were far off, butthey were there; Markart's talk had made a link between them and her.She sat on for a long while, watching the junction of the streams andthe broad current which flowed onward past the Palace, on its longjourney to the sea. Then she rose with a sigh; the time drew near for aFrench lesson. Marie Zerkovitch had already got her two pupils.

  When General Stenovics had ridden three or four hundred yards, hebeckoned his aide-de-camp and secretary--for Markart's functions wereboth military and civil--to his side.

  "We're last of all, I suppose?" he asked.

  "Pretty nearly, sir."

  "That must be his Royal Highness just crossing the bridge?"

  "Yes, sir, that's his escort."

  "Ah, well, we shall just do it! And who, pray"--the General turned roundto his companion--"is that remarkable-looking young woman you've managedto pick up?"

  Markart told what he knew of Mademoiselle de Gruche; it was not much.

  "A friend of the Zerkovitches? That's good. A nice fellow,Zerkovitch--and his wife's quite charming. And your friend--?"

  "I can hardly call her that, General."

  "Tut, tut! You're irresistible, I know. Your friend--what did you tellher?"

  "Nothing, on my honor." The young man colored and looked a triflealarmed. But Stenovics's manner was one of friendly amusement.

  "For an example of your 'nothing,'" he went on, "you told her that theKing was an amiable man?"

  "Oh, possibly, General."

  "That the Countess was a little--just a little--too scrupulous?"

  "It was nothing, surely, to say that?"

  "That we all wanted the Prince to marry?"

  "I made only the most general reference to that, sir."

  "That--" he looked harder at his young friend--"the Prince is notpopular with the army?"

  "On my honor, no!"

  "Think, think, Markart."

  Markart searched his memory; under interrogation it accused him; hisface grew rueful.

  "I did wish he was more like his Majesty. I--I did say he was a Tartar."

  Stenovics chuckled in apparent satisfaction at his own perspicacity. Buthis only comment was: "Then your remarkably handsome young friend knowssomething about us already. You're an admirable cicerone to a stranger,Markart."

  "I hope you're not annoyed, sir. I--I didn't tell any secrets?"

  "Certainly not, Markart. Three bits of gossip and one lie don't make upa secret between them. Come, we must get along."

  Markart's face cleared; but he observed that the General did not tellhim which was the lie.

  This day Sophy began the diary; the
first entry is dated that afternoon.Her prescience--or presentiment--was not at fault. From to-day eventsmoved fast, and she was strangely caught up in the revolutions of thewheel.