Part 50 (2/2)
The Prince for several moments made no reply. He was still standing facing the fireplace, leaning slightly against the table behind him. On his right was the Duke, seated in a library chair. On his left the Prime Minister and Sir Edward Bransome. The Prince seemed somehow to have become the central figure of the little group.
”Perhaps,” he said, ”if you had asked me that question a month ago, Mr. Haviland, I might have replied to you differently. Circ.u.mstances, however, since then have changed. My departure will take place so soon, and the kindness I have met here from all of you has been so overwhelming, that if you will let me I should like to speak of certain things concerning which no written communication could ever pa.s.s between our two countries.”
”I can a.s.sure you, my dear Prince, that we shall very much appreciate your doing so,” Mr. Haviland declared.
”I think,” the Prince continued, ”that the greatest and the most subtle of all policies is the policy of perfect truthfulness. Listen to me, then. The thing which you have in your mind concerning me is true. Two years I have spent in this country and in other countries of Europe.
These two years have not been spent in purposeless travel. On the contrary, I have carried with me always a definite and very fixed purpose.”
The Prime Minister and Bransome exchanged rapid glances.
”That has been our belief from the first,” Bransome remarked.
”I came to Europe,” the Prince continued gravely, ”to make a report to my cousin the Emperor of j.a.pan as to whether I believed that a renewal of our alliance with you would be advantageous to my country. I need not shrink from discussing this matter with you now, for my report is made.
It is, even now, on its way to the Emperor.”
There was a moment's silence, a silence which in this corner of the great room seemed marked with a certain poignancy. It was the Prime Minister who broke it.
”The report,” he said, ”is out of your hands. The official decision of your Government will reach us before long. Is there any reason why you should not antic.i.p.ate that decision, why you should not tell us frankly what your advice was?”
”There is no reason,” the Prince answered. ”I will tell you. I owe that to you at least. I have advised the Emperor not to renew the treaty.”
”Not to renew,” the Prime Minister echoed.
This time the silence was portentous. It was a blow, and there was not one of the three men who attempted to hide his dismay.
”I am afraid,” the Prince continued earnestly, ”that to you I must seem something of an ingrate. I have been treated by every one in this country as the son of a dear friend. The way has been made smooth for me everywhere. Nothing has been hidden. From all quarters I have received hospitality which I shall never forget. But you are three just men. I know you will realize that my duty was to my country and to my country alone. No one else has any claims upon me. What I have seen I have written of. What I believe I have spoken.”
”Prince,” Mr. Haviland said, ”there is no one here who will gainsay your honesty. You came to judge us as a nation and you have found us wanting.
At least we can ask you why?”
The Prince sighed.
”It is hard,” he said. ”It is very hard. When I tell you of the things which I have seen, remember, if you please, that I have seen them with other eyes than yours. The conditions which you have grown up amongst and lived amongst all your days pa.s.s almost outside the possibility of your impartial judgment. You have lived with them too long. They have become a part of you. Then, too, your national weakness bids your eyes see what you would have them see.”
”Go on,” Mr. Haviland said, drumming idly with his fingers upon the table.
”I have had to ask myself,” the Prince continued,--”it has been my business to ask myself what is your position as a great military power, and the answer I have found is that as a great military power it does not exist. I have had to ask myself what would happen to your country in the case of a European war, where your fleet was distributed to guard your vast possessions in every quarter of the world, and the answer to that is that you are, to all practical purposes, defenceless. In almost any combination which could arrange itself, your country is at the mercy of the invader.”
Bransome leaned forward in his chair.
”I can disprove it,” he declared firmly. ”Come with me to Aldershot next week, and I will show you that those who say that we have no army are ignorant alarmists. The Secretary for War shall show you our new scheme for defensive forces. You have gone to the wrong authorities for information on these matters, Prince. You have been entirely and totally misled.”
The Prince drew a little breath.
”Sir Edward,” he said, ”I do not speak to you rashly. I have not looked into these affairs as an amateur. You forget that I have spent a week at Aldershot, that your Secretary for War gave me two days of his valuable time. Every figure with which you could furnish me I am already possessed of. I will be frank with you. What I saw at Aldershot counted for nothing with me in my decision. Your standing army is good, beyond a doubt,--a well-trained machine, an excellent plaything for a General to move across the chessboard. It might even win battles, and yet your standing army are mercenaries, and no great nation, from the days of Babylon, has resisted invasion or held an empire by her mercenaries.”
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