The Kingdom of the Blind [10]
failed absolutely in your duty towards your own country, and having grossly and traitorously deceived a personage who has always treated you with the greatest kindness. I am here to see if it is possible for you to make some amends."
"I deny every word you say," the Minister declared passionately, "and I refuse to hear your proposition."
Mr Sidney's manner suddenly changed. He leaned forward in his chair.
"Do not be foolish," he advised. "Your last letter to a certain personage was dated June second. I have a copy of it with me. Shall I read it to you, word by word?"
"Thank you, I remember enough of it," Lord Romsey groaned.
"You will listen, then to what I have to say," the envoy proceeded, "or that letter will be published in the Times to-morrow morning. You know what that will mean--your political ruin, your everlasting disgrace. What use will this country, blinded at the present moment by prejudice, have for a statesman, who without authority, pledged his Government to an alliance with Germany, who over his own signature--"
"Stop!" Lord Romsey interrupted. "There is no purpose in this. What is it you want?"
"Your influence in the Cabinet. You are responsible for this war. It is for you to end it."
"Rubbish!" the other exclaimed hoarsely. "You are attempting to saddle me with a responsibility like this, simply because my personal sympathies have always been on this die of the country you are representing."
"It is not a question of your personal sympathies," Mr. Sidney returned swiftly. "In black and white you pledged your Government to abstain from war against Germany."
"How could I tell," the statesman protested, "that Germany was thinking of tearing up treaties, of entering into a campaign of sheer and scandalous aggression?"
"You made no stipulations or conditions in what you wrote," was the calm reply. "You pledged your word that your Government would never declare war against Germany. You alluded to the French entente as an unnatural one. You spoke eloquently of the kinship of spirit between England and Germany."
Lord Romsey moved uneasily in his chair. He had expected to find this an unpleasant interview and he was certainly not being disappointed.
"Well, I was mistaken," he admitted. "What I said was true enough. I never did believe that the Government with which I was associated would declare war against Germany. Even now, let me tell you that there isn't a soul breathing who knows how close the real issue was. If your people had only chosen any other line of advance!"
"I have not come here to recriminate," Mr. Sidney declared. "That is not my mission. I am here to state our terms for refraining from sending your letters--your personal letters to the Kaiser--to the English Press."
Lord Romsey sprang to his feet.
"Good God, man! Do you know what you are saying?" he exclaimed.
"Perfectly," the other replied. "I told you that my errand was a serious one. Shall I proceed?"
The Minister slowly resumed his seat. From behind the electric lamp his face was ghastly white. In that brief pause which followed he seemed to be looking through the walls of the room into an ugly chapter of his future. He saw the headlines in the newspapers, the leading articles, the culmination of all the gossip and mutterings of the last few months, the end of his political career--a disgraceful and ignoble end! Surely no man had ever been placed in so painful a predicament. It was treason to parley. It was disgraceful to send this man away.
"Germany wants peace," his visitor continued calmly. "She may not have accomplished all she wished to have accomplished by this war, and she is still as strong as ever from a military point of view, but she wants peace. I need say no more than that."
Lord Romsey shook his head.
"Even if I had the influence, which I haven't," he began, "it isn't a matter of the Government at all. The country would never stand it."
"Then you had better convert the country," was the prompt reply. "Look upon it as your duty.
"I deny every word you say," the Minister declared passionately, "and I refuse to hear your proposition."
Mr Sidney's manner suddenly changed. He leaned forward in his chair.
"Do not be foolish," he advised. "Your last letter to a certain personage was dated June second. I have a copy of it with me. Shall I read it to you, word by word?"
"Thank you, I remember enough of it," Lord Romsey groaned.
"You will listen, then to what I have to say," the envoy proceeded, "or that letter will be published in the Times to-morrow morning. You know what that will mean--your political ruin, your everlasting disgrace. What use will this country, blinded at the present moment by prejudice, have for a statesman, who without authority, pledged his Government to an alliance with Germany, who over his own signature--"
"Stop!" Lord Romsey interrupted. "There is no purpose in this. What is it you want?"
"Your influence in the Cabinet. You are responsible for this war. It is for you to end it."
"Rubbish!" the other exclaimed hoarsely. "You are attempting to saddle me with a responsibility like this, simply because my personal sympathies have always been on this die of the country you are representing."
"It is not a question of your personal sympathies," Mr. Sidney returned swiftly. "In black and white you pledged your Government to abstain from war against Germany."
"How could I tell," the statesman protested, "that Germany was thinking of tearing up treaties, of entering into a campaign of sheer and scandalous aggression?"
"You made no stipulations or conditions in what you wrote," was the calm reply. "You pledged your word that your Government would never declare war against Germany. You alluded to the French entente as an unnatural one. You spoke eloquently of the kinship of spirit between England and Germany."
Lord Romsey moved uneasily in his chair. He had expected to find this an unpleasant interview and he was certainly not being disappointed.
"Well, I was mistaken," he admitted. "What I said was true enough. I never did believe that the Government with which I was associated would declare war against Germany. Even now, let me tell you that there isn't a soul breathing who knows how close the real issue was. If your people had only chosen any other line of advance!"
"I have not come here to recriminate," Mr. Sidney declared. "That is not my mission. I am here to state our terms for refraining from sending your letters--your personal letters to the Kaiser--to the English Press."
Lord Romsey sprang to his feet.
"Good God, man! Do you know what you are saying?" he exclaimed.
"Perfectly," the other replied. "I told you that my errand was a serious one. Shall I proceed?"
The Minister slowly resumed his seat. From behind the electric lamp his face was ghastly white. In that brief pause which followed he seemed to be looking through the walls of the room into an ugly chapter of his future. He saw the headlines in the newspapers, the leading articles, the culmination of all the gossip and mutterings of the last few months, the end of his political career--a disgraceful and ignoble end! Surely no man had ever been placed in so painful a predicament. It was treason to parley. It was disgraceful to send this man away.
"Germany wants peace," his visitor continued calmly. "She may not have accomplished all she wished to have accomplished by this war, and she is still as strong as ever from a military point of view, but she wants peace. I need say no more than that."
Lord Romsey shook his head.
"Even if I had the influence, which I haven't," he began, "it isn't a matter of the Government at all. The country would never stand it."
"Then you had better convert the country," was the prompt reply. "Look upon it as your duty.