Hornblower was about to bow, but out of the tail of his eye he caught sight of St Vincent still holding himself ponderously erect, and he restrained himself.
“To whom have I the honour of being presented?” asked St Vincent, coldly. It appeared as if St Vincent entertained some prejudice against Germans.
“Doctor Eisenbeiss,” said Harmond.
“His Excellency the Baron von Eisenbeiss, High Chamberlain and Secretary of State to His Serene Highness the Prince of SeitzBunau,” said the burly man, in further explanation. “It is with much pleasure that I make your acquaintance.”
He stood meeting St Vincent’s eyes for a moment, and then he bowed; St Vincent bowed only after Eisenbeiss had begun to bow; Hornblower and Bracegirdle followed his example. All four of them straightened up at the same moment.
“And now,” said Eisenbeiss, “I have the honour to present—”
He turned to the Prince and continued his speech in German, apparently repeating his first words and then mentioning the names in turn. The little Prince gave a half bow at each name, but as St Vincent bowed low—nearly as low as he had bowed to the King—Hornblower did likewise. Then the Prince spoke in German to Eisenbeiss.
“His Serene Highness says,” translated the latter, “that he is delighted to make the acquaintance of officers of His Majesty’s Navy, because it is His Highness’s will that he should make war against the French tyrant in their company.”
“Tell His Serene Highness,” said St Vincent, “that we are all delighted, too.”
The translation was made, and the Prince produced a smile for each of them. Then there was an uncomfortable moment as they looked at each other. Finally Eisenbeiss said something again to the Prince, received a reply, and then turned to the group.
“His Serene Highness,” he announced, “says that he will not detain you longer.”
“Hm’ph,” said St Vincent, but he bent himself once more in the middle, as did the others, and then they withdrew themselves, backwards and sideways, from out of His Serene Highness’s presence.
“Damned upstart whippersnapper,” mumbled St Vincent to himself, and then added, “At any rate, our duty’s done. We can leave. Follow me over to that door.”
Down below loud bawling by a footman in the courtyard brought up the Earl’s coach again, and they climbed in, Hornblower utterly dazed by reason of his cold, the excitement he had been through, and his puzzlement about the incident in which he had taken part.
“Well, that’s your midshipman, Hornblower,” said St Vincent. His voice was so like the rumbling of the iron tyres over the cobbles that Hornblower was not sure that he had heard aright—especially as what St Vincent had said was so strange.
“I beg your pardon, my lord?”
“I have no doubt you heard me. I said that’s your midshipman—the Prince of SeitzBunau.”
“But who is he, my lord?”
“One of those German princes. Boney chased him out of his principality last year, on his way to Austerlitz. Country’s brimful of German princes chased out by Boney. The point is that this one’s the King’s greatnephew, as you heard.”
“And he’s to be one of my midshipmen?”
“That is so. He’s young enough to learn sense, not like most of ‘em. Most of ‘em go in the army. On the staff, God help the staff. But now the navy’s fashionable—first time since the Dutch Wars. We’ve been winning battles, and God knows the soldiers haven’t. So all the ne’er do well young lords join the Navy nowadays instead of the Light Dragoons. It was His Majesty’s own idea that this young fellow should do the same.”
“I understand, my lord.”
“It won’t do him any harm. Atropos won’t be any palace, of course.”
“That’s what I was thinking, my lord. The midshipmen’s berth in Atropos–”
“You’ll have to put him there, all the same. Not much room in a flush-decked sloop. If it were a ship of the line he might berth by himself, but if it’s to be Atropos he’ll have to take what comes. And it won’t be caviar and venison, either. I’ll send you orders on the subject, of course.”
“Aye aye, my lord.”
The coach was grinding to a stop at the Admiralty; someone opened the door, and St Vincent began to heave himself out of his seat. Hornblower followed him in under the portico.
“I’ll bid you goodbye, then, Hornblower,” said St Vincent, offering his hand.
“Goodbye, my lord.”
St Vincent stood looking at him from under his eyebrows.
“The Navy has two duties, Hornblower,” he said. “We all know what one is—to fight the French and give Boney what for.”
“Yes, my lord?”
“The other we don’t think about so much. We have to see that when we go we leave behind us a Navy which is as good as the one in which we served. You’ve less than three years’ seniority now, Hornblower, but you’ll find you’ll grow older. It’ll seem you’ve hardly had time to look round before you’ll have fortythree years’ seniority, like me. It goes fast enough, I assure you. Perhaps then you’ll be taking another young officer to present him at the Palace.”
“Er—yes, my lord.”
“Choose carefully, Hornblower, if it ever becomes your duty. One can make mistakes. But let them be honest mistakes.”
“Yes, my Lord.”
“That’s all.”
The old man turned away without another word, leaving Hornblower with Bracegirdle under the portico.
“Jervie’s in a melting mood,” said Bracegirdle.
“So it seems.”
“I think he wanted to say he had his eye on you, sir.”
“But he had an anchor out to windward all the same,” said Hornblower, thinking of what St Vincent had said about the chance of one making mistakes.
“Jervie never forgives, sir,” said Bracegirdle, seriously.
“Well—”
Twelve years of service in the Navy had gone far to make Hornblower, on occasions, fatalist enough to be able to shrug off that sort of peril—at least until it was past.
“I’ll take my boat cloak, if you please,” he said, “and I’ll say good-bye, and thank you.”
“A glass of something? A cup of tea? A mouthful to eat, sir?”
“No, thank you, I’d better shove off.”
Maria was waiting for him at Deptford, longing to hear about his visit to Court and his presentation to the King. Maria had been wildly excited when Hornblower had told her what he was going to do. The thought that he was going to meet face to face the Lord’s anointed was almost too much for her—the midwife had come forward with a warning that all this excitement might bring on a fever. And he had not merely been presented to the King, but the King had actually spoken to him, had discussed his professional career with him. Besides, he was to have a real Prince as a midshipman on board his ship—a dispossessed prince, admittedly, but to counterbalance that was the fact that the prince was a greatnephew of the King, related by blood to the Royal Family. That would delight Maria as much as his presentation at Court.
She would want to know all about it, who was there (Hornblower found himself wishing he had been able to identify a single one of the figures who had stood behind the throne) and what everyone was wearing—that would be easier, as there had been no women present, of course, at the levee, and practically everyone had been in uniform. He would have to be careful in his account, as it was possible to hurt Maria’s feelings. Hornblower himself fought for his country; it might be better said that he fought for the ideals of liberty and decency against the unprincipled tyrant who ruled across the Channel; the hackneyed phrase “for King and Country” hardly expressed his feelings at all. If he was ready to lay down his life for his King that really had no reference to the kindly popeyed old gentleman with whom he had been speaking this morning; it meant that he was ready to die for the system of liberty and order that the old gentleman represented. But to Maria the King was representative of something other than liberty and order; he had received the blessing of the Church; he was somebody to be spoken about with awe. To turn one’s back on the King was to Hornblower a breach of good manners, something damaging, in some degree, to the conventions which held the country together in the face of its imminent peril; but to Maria it would be something very close to sacrilege. He would have to be careful not to speak too lightly of the old gentleman.