A Foreign Office Romance

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A foreign office romance by Arthur Conan Doyle.

There are many folk who knew Alfons Laker in his old age, from about the time of the

revolution of 48 until he died in the second year of the Crimean War.

He was always to be found in the same corner of the cafe depravals at the end of the

loose center of the eye, coming down about nine in the evening, and going when he could

find no one to talk with.

It took some self-restraint to listen to the old diplomatist, for his stories were beyond

all belief, and yet he was quick at detecting the shadow of a smile or the slightest little

raising of the eyebrows.

Then his huge rounded back would straighten itself.

His bulldog chin would project, and his Rs would burr like a kettle drum.

When he got as far as Ah Monsieur Rit, Vunamik Royet Patonk, it was quite time to remember

that you had a ticket for the opera.

There was his story of Talleyrand in the five oyster shells, and there was his utterly

absurd account of Napoleon's second vision to Ajaccio.

Then there was that most circumstantial romance, which he never ventured upon until his second

bottle had been in court, of the Emperor's escape from St Helena, how he lived for a whole

year in Philadelphia while Count Ebert de Béthane, who was his living image, personated him

at Longwood.

But of all his stories, there was none which was more notorious than that of the Koran

and the foreign office messenger.

And yet when Monsieur Otto's memoirs were written, it was found that there really was some

foundation for Ola Curl's incredible statement.

You must know, Monsieur, he would say, that I left Egypt after Cléberre's assassination.

I would gladly have stayed on for I was engaged in a translation of the Koran, and between

ourselves I had thoughts at the time of embracing Mohammedanism, for I was deeply struck by

the wisdom of their views about marriage.

They had made an incredible stake, however, upon the subject of wine, and this was what

the Moufti who attempted to convert me could never get over.

Then when Ola Cléberre died and Menu came to the top, I felt that it was time for me

to go.

It's not for me to speak of my own capabilities, Monsieur, but you will really understand

that the man does not care to be ridden by the mule.

I carried my Koran and my papers to London where Monsieur Otto had been sent by the First

Council to arrange a treaty of peace.

For both nations were very weary of the war which had already lasted ten years.

Here I was most useful to Monsieur Otto, an account of my knowledge of English tongue,

and also if I may say so, an account of my natural capacity.

They were happy days during which I lived in the square of Bloomsberg.

The claimant of Monsieur's country is it must be confessed to testable, but then what

would you have?

Flowers grow best in the rain.

One has but to point to the Monsieur's fellow country women to prove it.

Well, Monsieur Otto, our ambassador, was kept terribly busy over that treaty and all of

his staff were worked to death.

We had not pit to deal with which was perhaps as well for us.

He was a terrible man, that pit, and wherever half a dozen enemies of France were plotting

together.

There was a sharp-pointed nose right in the middle of them.

The nation however had been thoughtful enough to put him out of office, and we had to do

with Monsieur Addington, but Melod Hawksbury was the foreign minister and was with him that

we were obliged to do our bargaining.

You can understand that it was no child's play.

After ten years of war each nation had got hold of a great deal which had belonged to

the other or the others' allies.

That was to be given back, and what was to be kept is this island with that peninsula.

If we do this at Venice, will you do that at Sierra Leone?

If we give up Egypt to the Sultan, will you restore the Cape of Good Hope with you who

have taken from our allies the Dutch?

So we wrangled and wrestled, and I have seen Monsieur Otto come back to the embassy so

exhausted.

This is secretary and I had to help him from his carriage to his sofa.

But at last things are just of themselves, and the night came round when the treaty was

to be finally signed.

Now you must know that one great card which we held, the one great card, and which we

played, played at every point of the game, was that we had Egypt.

The English were very nervous about our being there.

It gave us a foot on each end of the Mediterranean, you see, and they were not sure that that wonderful

little Napoleon of ours might not make it the base of an advance against India.

So whenever Lord Hawksbury proposed to retain anything, we had only to reply, in that case,

of course, we cannot consent to evacuate Egypt.

And in this way, we quickly brought him to reason.

It was by the help of Egypt that we gained terms that were remarkably favorable, and especially

that we caused the English to consent to give up the Cape of Good Hope.

We did not wish your people in this year to have any foothold in South Africa, for

history has taught us that the British foothold of one half century is the British Empire

on the next.

And not your army or your navy against which we have to guard, but it is your terrible,

younger son and your man in search of a career.

When we friendship a possession across the seas, we like to sit in Paris and to felicitate

ourselves upon it.

With you, it is different.

You take your wives and your children, and you run away to see what kind of a place this

may be.

And after that, we might as well try to take that old square of blooms bury away from

you.

Well, it was upon the first of October that the treaty was finally to be signed.

In the morning I was congratulating Mr. Otto upon the happy conclusion of his labors.

He was a little pale shrimp of a man very quick and nervous, and he was so delighted now

at his own success that he could not sit still, but ran about the room chattering and laughing.

While I sat on a cushion in the corner as I had learned to do in the east, suddenly

in came a messenger with a letter which had been forwarded from Paris.

Mr. Otto cast his eyes upon it, and then, without a word, his knees gave way, and he felt

senseless upon the floor.

I ran to him as did the career, and between us we carried him to the sofa.

He might have been dead from his appearance, but I could steal Philly's heart thrilling

beneath my palm.

What is this then, I asked?

I do not know, I answered the messenger.

He should tell me, and told me to hurry, as never man hurried before, and to put this

letter into the hands of Mr. Otto.

I was in Paris at midday yesterday.

I know that I am to blame, but I could not help glancing at the letter, picking it out

of the senseless hand of Mr. Otto.

My God, the thunderbolt that he was.

I did not faint, but I sat down beside my chief, and I burst into tears.

It was but a few words, but they told us that Egypt had been evacuated by our troops

a month before.

All our tree he was undone then, and the one consideration which had induced our enemies

to give us good terms, had vanished.

In twelve hours it would not have mattered, but now the tree he was not yet signed, we

should have to give up the cape, we should have to let England have Malta.

Now the Egypt was gone, we had nothing to offer an exchange, but we are not so easily beaten,

we Frenchmen.

You English mist judge us when you think that because we show emotions which you can

seal, that we are there for ever weak and womanly nature, you cannot read your histories

and believe that.

Mr. Otto recovered his sense presently, and we took counsel, what we should do.

It is useless to go on the alphons, as he says, this Englishman will laugh at me when

I ask him to say, Courage, I cried, and then a sudden thought came into my head.

How do we know that the English will have news of that, perhaps they may sign the treaty

before they know of it?

This year Otto sprang from the sofa and flung himself into my arms.

And if alphons he cried, you have saved me, why should they know about it?

Our news has come from too long to Paris and then straight to London, theirs will come by

sea through the straits of Gibraltar.

At this moment it is unlikely that anyone in Paris knows if it save only Italian and

in the first council.

If we keep our secret, we may still get our treaty signed.

Ah, Monsieur, you can imagine the horrible uncertainty in which we spent the day.

Never, never shall I forget those slow hours during which we sat together, starting at

every distant shout less, it should be the first sign of the rejoicing which this news

would cause in London.

Monsieur Otto passed from youth to age in a day.

As for me, I find it easier to go out and meet danger than to wait for it.

I set forth, therefore, toward evening.

I wandered here and wandered there.

I was in the fencing rooms of Monsieur Angelo, and in the setting the box of Monsieur Jackson,

and in the club of Brooks, and in the lobby of the Chamber of Deputies.

But nowhere did I hear any news.

Still, it was possible that Melored Hawksbury had received it himself just as we had.

He lived in Harley Street and there it was that the treaty was to be finally signed

that night at eight.

I untreated Monsieur Otto to drink two glasses of burgundy before he went.

Before I fear at least his haggard face, and trembling hands should arouse suspicion

in the English minister.

Well, we went round together in one of the embassy's carriages about half past seven.

Monsieur Otto went in alone, but presently on excuse of getting his portfolio, he came

out again with his cheeks flushed with joy to tell me that all was well.

He knows nothing, he whispered, ah, if the next half hour were over, give me a sign when

he'd settled, said, ah, for what reason?

Because until then no messenger shall interrupt you.

I give you my promise, I add phones like, ah, he clashed my hands in both of his, I shall

make an excuse to move one of the candles onto the table in the window and said he, and

hurried into the house whilst I was left waiting beside the carriage.

Well if we could but secure ourselves from interruption for a single half hour, the day

would be our own.

I had hardly begun to form my plans when I saw the lights of a carriage coming swiftly

from the direction of Oxford Street, ah, if it should be the messenger.

What could I do?

I was prepared to kill him, yes, even to kill him rather than at this last moment allow

I worked to be undone.

Thousands died to make a glorious war, why should not one die to make a glorious peace?

What though they hurried me to the scaffold I should have sacrificed myself in my country?

I had a little curved Turkish knife strapped to my waist, my hand was on the hilt of

it when the carriage which had alarmed me so rattled safely past me.

But another might come, I must be prepared above all, I must not compromise the embassy.

I ordered our carriage to move on and I engaged what you call a hackney coach, then I spoke

to the driver and gave him a guinea, he understood that it was a special service.

You shall have another guinea if you do what your told said I.

All right, master said he and turned his slow eyes upon me without a trace of excitement

of curiosity. If I enter your coach with another gentleman you will drive up and down

Harley Street and take no orders from anyone but me.

When I get out you will carry the other gentleman to Wapier's club in Bruton Street.

All right, master said he again, so I stood outside my Lord Hawkesbury's house and you can

think how often my eyes went up to that window and the help of seeing the candle twinkle in it.

Five minutes passed and another five. Oh, how slowly they crept along.

It was a true October night, raw and cold, with a white fog crawling over the wet,

shining cobblestone and blurring the dim oil lamps.

I could not see fifty paces in either direction, but my ears were straining,

straining to catch the rattle of hooves or the rumble of wheels.

It's not a cheering place to share this street of Harley, even upon a sunny day.

The houses are solid and very respectable over Yonder, but there is nothing of the feminine

about them. It's a city to be inhabited by males. But on that raw night I'm in the damp

and the fog with the anxiety annoying at my heart. It seemed the saddest,

weirdest spot in the whole wide world. I paced up and down, slapping my hands to keep the warm

and still straining my ears, and then suddenly, out of the dull hum of the traffic down in Oxford

street, I heard a sound detach itself and grow louder and louder and clearer and clearer

with every instant until two yellow lights came flashing through the fog, and a light cabriolay

whirled up to the door of the foreign minister. If it had not stopped before a young fellow sprang out

of it and hurried to the steps while the driver turned his horse and rattled off into the fog once more.

Ah, it is in the moment of action that I am best mischievous. You who only see me when I'm

drinking my wine in the cafe de Provolts cannot conceive the heights to which I rise. At that moment,

when I knew that the fruit of a ten years' war at stake I was magnificent. It was the last

French campaign and I, the general and army in one. Sir, said I, touching him upon the arm.

Are you the messenger for Lord Hawkesbury? Yes, city. I've been waiting for you half an hour,

you to follow me at once, ears with the French ambassador. I spoke with such assurance that he never

hesitated for an instant. When he entered the Hackney coach and I followed him in my heart,

gave such a thrill of joy that I could hardly keep from shouting aloud. He was a poor little creature

this foreign office messenger, not much bigger than Monsieur Hato. And I, on this year, can see my

hands now, and imagine what they were like when I was seven and twenty years of age.

Well, now that I had him in my coach, the question was what I should do with him. I did not wish to

hurt him if I could help it. This is pressing business. Said he, I have a dispatch which I must

deliver instantly. Our coach had rattled down Harley Street, but now in accordance with my

instruction, it turned and began to go up again. Hello, hello, he tried. What's this?

What then, I asked? We are driving back. Where is Lord Hawkesbury? We shall see him presently.

Let me out. Let me out. He shouted. There's some trickery in this coachman. Stop the coach. Let me

out, I say. I dashed him back into his seat as he tried to turn the handle of the door. He roared

for help. I clapped my palm across his mouth. He made his teeth meet through the side of it.

I seized his own cravat and bounded over his lips. He still mumbled and gurgled, but the noise

was covered by the rattle of our wheels. We were passing the minister's house, and there was no

candle in the window. The messenger sat quiet for a little and I could see the glint of his eyes.

He stared at me through the gloom. He was partly stunned, I think, by the force with which I had hurled

him into his seat, and also he was pondering, perhaps, what he should do next. Presently he got his

mouth partly free from the cravat. You could have my watch and my purse if you will let me go,

city. Sir, as I am as honorable a man as you are yourself. Who are you then? My name is of no

importance. What do you want with me? It is a bet. A bet. What do you mean? When you understand

that I am on the government's service, and that you will see the inside of a jail for that?

That is the bet. That is the sport, said I. You know, they find it poor sport. Before you finish,

he cried. What is this insane bet of yours, then? I have bet, I answered, that I will recite a

chapter of the Quran to the first gentleman whom I should meet in the street. Well, I don't know

what would bring me think of it, say that my translation was always running in my head. He clutched

at the door handle, and again I had to hurl him back into his seat. How long will it take, he gasped,

it depends on the chapter, I answered. A short one, then, and let me go. But is it fair, I argue,

when I say a chapter, I do not mean the shortest chapter, but rather one which should be of average length.

Help, help, help, he squealed, and I was compelled again to adjust his cravat. A little patient,

said I, and will soon be over. I should like to recite the chapter which would be of most interest

to yourself. You will confess that I am trying to make things as pleasant as I can for you.

He slipped his mouth free again. Quick, then quick, he groaned. The chapter of the camel, I suggest.

Oh, yes, yes. Or that of the fleet's stallion. Oh, yes, yes, only proceed.

When passed the window and there was no candle, I settled down to recite the chapter of the

stallion to it. Perhaps you do not know your Quran very well, Monsieur? Well, I knew it by heart,

then, as I know it by heart. Now, the style is a little exasperating for anyone who is in a hurry.

But then, what would you have? The people in the east are never in a hurry and it was written for them.

I repeated it all with the dignity and solemnity, which is sacred book demands, and the young English

when he regaled and groaned. When the horses standing on three feet and placing the tip of their

fourth foot upon the ground were mustered in front of him in the evening. He said, I have loved the

love of earthly good above the remembrance of things on high, and have spent the time in viewing

these horses. Bring the horses back to me. And when they were brought back, he began to cut off

their legs. It was at this moment that the young Englishman sprang at me. My God, how little can I

remember the next few minutes? He was a boxer, this shred of a man. He had been trained to strike.

I tried to catch him by the hands, back, back. He came up on my nose and upon my eye.

I put down my head and thrust at him with it back. He came from below, but,

huh, I was too much for him. I hurled myself upon him, and he had no place where he could escape

from my weight. He fell flat upon the cushions, and I seated myself upon him,

with such conviction that the wind flew from him as from a burst of bellows.

Then I searched to see what there was with which I could tie him. I grew the strings from my shoes,

and with one I secured his wrists, and with another his ankles. Then I tied to clav'at round

his mouth again so that he could only lie and glare at me. When I had done all this, and it stopped

the bleeding of my own nose, I looked out of the couch at. Oh, Monsieur, the very first thing that

caught my eyes was that candle, that dear little candle, glimmering in the window of the minister alone.

With these two hands, I had retrieved the capitulation of an army in the loss of a province.

Yes, Monsieur, what Abercrombie and five thousand men had done upon the beach of Abercrombie was

undone by me, single-handed in a hackney coach in Harley Street. Well, of course, I had no time to

lose for it. Any moment, Monsieur Otto might be down. I shouted to my driver, gave him his second

guinea, and allowed him to proceed to Watiers. For myself, I sprang into our embassy carriage

on a moment later the door of the minister opened. He had himself escorted Monsieur Otto down

stairs, and now so deep was he in talk that he walked out bare-headed as far as the carriage.

As I stood there by the open door, I came the rattle of wheels and a man rushed down the pavement.

A dispatch of great importance for my Lord Hawksbury, he cried. I could see that it was not my

messenger, but a second one. My Lord Hawksbury caught the paper from his hand and read it by the

light of the carriage-lamp. His face, Monsieur, was as white as this plate before he had finished.

Monsieur Otto, he cried. We have signed this treaty upon a false understanding.

Egypt is in our hands. Well, what cried, Monsieur Otto?

Emposubru. It is certain. It fell to Abercrombé last month. In that case,

said Monsieur Otto. It is very fortunate that the treaty is signed.

Very fortunate for you, sir, cried, my Lord Hawksbury, and he turned back to the house.

Next day, Monsieur, what they call the Beau Street runners were after me, but

they could not run across saltwater. And Alphonse La Cœur was receiving the congratulations of

Monsieur Telegrand and the First Council, before ever his pursuers had got as far as Dover.

End of a foreign office romance by Arthur Conan Doyle,