Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli, page 536
part #22 of Delphi Series Series
“You are up betimes, Professor,” he said lightly; “I suppose your scientific wisdom teaches you the advantage of the morning air.”
“Truly, Sir, it is more healthful than that of the evening,” answered Von Glauben in somewhat doleful accents.— “For example, a sail across the sea with the morning breeze, is better than the same sort of excursion in the glamour of the moon!”
Prince Humphry looked steadfastly at him, and evidently read something of a warning, or a suggestion, in his face, for he coloured slightly and bit his lip.
“Do you agree with that theory, Sir Roger,” he said, turning to De Launay.
“I have not tested it, Sir,” replied the equerry, “But I imagine that whatever Professor von Glauben asserts must be true!”
The young man glanced quickly from one to the other, and then with a careless air turned over the pages of the book he held.
“In the earlier ages of the world,” he said,— “men and women, I think, must have been happier than they are now, if this book may be believed. I find here written down — What is it, Professor? You have something to say?”
“Pardon me, Sir,” said Von Glauben,— “But you said— ‘If this book may be believed.’ I humbly venture to declare that no book may be believed!”
“Not even your own, when it is written?” queried the Prince with a smile; “You would not like the world to say so! Nay, but listen, Professor, — here is a thought very beautifully expressed — and it was written in an ancient language of the East, thousands of years before we, in our quarter of the world, ever dreamt of civilization.— ‘Of all the sentiments, passions or virtues which in their divers turns affect the life of a man, the influence and emotion of Love is surely the greatest and highest. We do not here speak of the base and villainous craving of bodily appetite; but of that pure desire of the unfettered soul which beholding perfection, straightway and naturally flies to the same. This love doth so elevate and instruct a man, that he seeketh nothing better than to be worthy of it, to attempt great deeds and valiantly perform them, to confront foul abuses, and most potently destroy them, — and to esteem the powers and riches of this world as dross, weighed against this rare and fiery talisman. For it is a jewel which doth light up the heart, and make it strong to support all sorrow and ill fortune with cheerfulness, knowing that it is in itself of so lasting a quality as to subjugate all things and events unto its compelling sway.’ What think you of this? Sir Roger, there is a whole volume of comprehension in your face! Give some word of it utterance!”
Sir Roger looked up.
“There is nothing to say, Sir,” he replied; “Your ancient writer merely expresses a truth we are all conscious of. All poets, worthy the name, and all authors, save and except the coldest logicians, deem the world well lost for love.”
“More fools they!” said Von Glauben gruffly; “Love is a mere illusion, which is generally destroyed by one simple ceremony — Marriage!”
Prince Humphry smiled.
“You have never tried the cure, Professor,” he said, “But I daresay you have suffered from the disease! Will you walk with me?”
Von Glauben bowed a respectful assent; and the Prince, with a kindly nod of dismissal to De Launay, went on his way, the Professor by his side. Sir Roger watched them as they disappeared, and saw, that at the furthest end of the alley, when they were well out of ear-shot, they appeared to engage in very close and confidential conversation.
“I wonder,” he mused, “I wonder what it all means? Von Glauben is evidently mixed up in some affair that he wishes to keep secret from the King. Can it concern Prince Humphry? And The Islands! What can Von Glauben want over there?”
His brief meditation was interrupted by a soft voice calling.
“Roger!”
He started, and at once advanced to meet the approaching intruder, his sister, Teresa de Launay, a pretty brunette, with dark sparkling eyes, one of the favourite ladies of honour in attendance on the Queen.
“What were you dreaming about?” she asked, as he came near, “And what is the Prince doing with old Von Glauben?”
“Two questions at once, Teresa!” he said, stooping his tall head to kiss her; “I cannot possibly answer both in a breath! But answer me just one — What are you here for?”
“To summon you!” she answered. “The Queen desires you to wait upon her immediately.”
She fixed her bright eyes upon him as she spoke, and an involuntary sigh escaped her, as she noted the touch of pallor that came on his face at her words.
“Where is her Majesty?” he asked.
“Here — close at hand — in the arbour. She spied you at a distance through the trees, and sent me to fetch you.”
“You had best return to her at once, and say that I am coming.”
His sister looked at him again, and hesitated — he gave a slight, vexed gesture of impatience, whereupon she hurried away, with flying footsteps as light as those of a fabled sylph of the woodlands. He watched her go, and for a moment an expression came into his eyes of intense suffering — the look of a noble dog who is suddenly struck undeservedly by an unkind master.
“She sends for me!” he muttered; “What for? To amuse herself by reading every thought of my life with her cold eyes? Why can she not leave me alone?”
He walked on then, with a quiet, even pace, and presently reaching the end of the alley, came out on a soft stretch of greensward facing a small ornamental lake and fountain. Here grew tall rushes, bamboos and flag-flowers — here, too, on the quiet lake floated water-lilies, white and pink, opening their starry hearts to the glory of the morning sun. A quaintly shaped, rustic arbour covered with jasmine, faced the pool, and here sat the Queen alone and unattended, save by Teresa de Launay, who drew a little apart as her brother, Sir Roger, approached, and respectfully bent his head in the Royal presence. For quite a minute he stood thus in dumb attention, his eyes lowered, while the Queen glanced at him with a curious expression, half of doubt, half of commiseration. Suddenly, as if moved by a quick impulse, she rose — a stately, exquisite figure, looking even more beautiful in her simple morning robe of white cashmere and lace, than in all the glory of her Court attire, — and extended her hand. Humbly and reverentially he bent over it, and kissed the great jewel sparkling like a star on the central finger. As he then raised his eyes to her face she smiled; — that smile of hers, so dazzling, so sweet, and yet so cold, had sent many men to their deaths, though she knew it not.
“I see very little of you, Sir Roger,” she said slowly, “notwithstanding your close attendance on my lord the King. Yet I know I can command your service!”
“Madam,” murmured De Launay, “my life — —”
“Oh, no,” she rejoined quickly, “not your life! Your life, like mine, belongs to the King and the country. You must give all, or not at all!”
“Madam, I do give all!” he answered, with a look in his eyes of mingled pain and passion; “No man can give more!”
She surveyed him with a little meditative, almost amused air.
“You have strong feelings, Sir Roger,” she said; “I wonder what it is like — to feel?”
“If I may dare to say so, Madam, I should wish you to experience the sensation,” he returned somewhat bitterly; “Sometimes we awaken to emotions too late — sometimes we never awaken. But I think it is wisest to experience the nature of a storm, in order to appreciate the value of a calm!”
“You think so?” She smiled indulgently. “Storm and calm are to me alike! I am affected by neither. Life is so exceedingly trivial an affair, and is so soon over, that I have never been able to understand why people should ever trouble themselves about anything in it.”
“You may not always be lacking in this comprehension, Madam,” said Sir Roger, with a certain harshness in his tone, yet with the deepest respect in his manner; “I take it that life and the world are but a preparation for something greater, and that we shall be forced to learn our lessons in this preparatory school before we leave it, whether we like it or no!”
The slight smile still lingered on her beautiful mouth, — she pulled a spray of jasmine down from the trailing clusters around her, and set it carelessly among the folds of her lace. Sir Roger watched her with moody eyes. Could he have followed his own inclination, he would have snatched the flower from her dress and kissed it, in a kind of fierce defiance before her very eyes. But what would be the result of such an act? Merely a little contemptuous lifting of the delicate brows — a slight frown on the fair forehead, and a calm gesture of dismissal. No more — no more than this; for just as she could not be moved to love, neither could she be moved to anger. The words of an old song rang in his ears: —
She laughs at the thought of love —
Pain she scorns, and sorrow she sets aside —
My heart she values less than her broidered glove,
She would smile if I died!
“You are a man, Sir Roger de Launay,” she said after a pause, “And man-like, you propound any theory which at the moment happens to fit your own particular humour. I am, however, entirely of your opinion that this life is only a term of preparation, and with this conviction I desire to have as little to do with its vile and ugly side as I can. It is possible to accept with gratitude the beautiful things of Nature, and reject the rest, is it not?”
“As you ask me the question point-blank, Madam, I say it is possible, — it can be done, — and you do it. But it is wrong!”
She raised her languid eyelids, showing no offence.
“Wrong?”
“Wrong, Madam!” repeated Sir Roger bluntly; “It is wrong to shut from your sight, from your heart, from your soul the ugly side of Nature; — to shut your ears to the wants — the pains — the tortures — the screams — the tears, and groans of humanity! Oh, Madam, the ugly side has a strange beauty of its own that you dream not of! God makes ugliness as he makes beauty; God created the volcano belching forth fire and molten lava, as He created the simple stream bordered with meadow flowers! Why should you reject the ugly, the fierce, the rebellious side of things? Rather take it into your gracious thoughts and prayers, Madam, and help to make it beautiful!”
He spoke with a force which surprised himself — he was carried away by a passion that seemed almost outside his own identity. She looked at him curiously.
“Does the King teach you to speak thus to me?” she asked.
De Launay started, — the hot colour mounting to his cheeks and brow.
“Madam!”
“Nay, no excuse! I understand! It is your own thought; but a thought which is no doubt suddenly inspired by the King’s actions,” she went on tranquilly; “You are in his confidence. He is adopting new measures of domestic policy, in which, perchance, I may or may not be included — as it suits my pleasure! Who knows!” Again the little musing smile crossed her countenance. “It is of the King I wish to speak to you.”
She glanced around her, and saw that her lady-in-waiting, Teresa de Launay, had discreetly wandered by herself to the edge of the water-lily pool, and was bending over it, a graceful, pensive figure in the near distance, within call, but certainly not within hearing.
“You are in his confidence,” she repeated, drawing a step nearer to him, “and — so am I! You will not disclose his movements — nor shall I! But you are his close attendant and friend, — I am merely — his wife! I make you responsible for his safety!”
“Madam, I pray you pardon me!” exclaimed De Launay; “His Majesty has a will of his own, — and his sacred life is not in my hands. I will defend him to the utmost limit of human possibility, — but if he voluntarily runs into danger, and disregards all warning, I, as his poor servant, am not to blame!”
Her eyes, brilliant and full of a compelling magnetism, dwelt upon him steadfastly.
“I repeat my command,” she said deliberately, “I make you responsible! You are a strong man and a brave one. If the King is rash, it is the duty of his servants to defend him from the consequences of his rashness; particularly if that rashness leads him into danger for a noble purpose. Should any mischance befall him, let me never see your face again! Die yourself, rather than let your King die!”
As she spoke these words she motioned him away with a grand gesture of dismissal, and he retired back from her presence in a kind of stunned amazement. Never before in all the days of her social sway as Crown-Princess, had she ever condescended to speak to him on any matter of confidence, — never during her three years of sovereignty as Queen-Consort had she apparently taken note, or cared to know any of the affairs connected with the King, her husband. The mere fact that now her interest was roused, moved De Launay to speechless wonderment. He hardly dared raise his eyes to look at her, as she turned from him and went slowly, with her usual noiseless, floating grace of movement, towards the water-lily pool, there to rejoin her attendant, Teresa de Launay, who at the same time advanced to meet her Royal mistress. A moment more, and Queen and lady of honour had disappeared together, and De Launay was left alone. A little bird, swinging on a branch above his head, piped a few tender notes to the green leaves and the sunlit sky, but beyond this, and the measured plash of the fountain, no sound disturbed the stillness of the garden.
“Upon my word, Roger de Launay,” he said bitterly to himself, “you are an ass sufficiently weighted with burdens! The love of a Queen, and the life of a King are enough for one man’s mind to carry with any degree of safety! If it were not for the King, I think I should leave this country and seek some other service — but I owe him much, — if only by reason of my own heart’s folly!”
Impatient with himself, he strode away, straight across the lawn and back to the palace. Here he noticed just the slightest atmosphere of uneasiness among some of the retainers of the Royal household, — a vague impression of flurry and confusion. Through various passages and corridors, attendants and pages were either running about with extra haste, or else strolling to and fro with extra slowness. As he turned into one of the ante-chambers, he suddenly confronted a tall, military-looking personage in plain civilian attire, whom he at once recognized as the Chief of the Police.
“Ah, Bernhoff!” he said lightly, “any storms brewing?”
“None that call for particular attention, Sir Roger,” replied the individual addressed; “But I have been sent for by the King, and am here awaiting his pleasure.”
Sir Roger showed no sign of surprise, and with a friendly nod passed on. He began to find the situation rather interesting.
“After all,” he argued inwardly, “there is nothing to hinder the King from being a social autocrat, even if he cannot by the rules of the Constitution be a political one. And we should do well to remember that politics are governed entirely by social influence. It is the same thing all over the world — a deluded populace — a social movement which elects a parliament and ministry — and then the result, — which is, that this or that party hold the reins of government, on whichever side happens to be most advantageous to the immediate social and financial whim. The people are the grapes crushed into wine for their rulers’ drinking; and the King is merely the wine-cup on the festal board. If he once begins to be something more than that cup, there will be an end of revelry!”
His ideas were not without good foundation in fact. Throughout all history, where a strong man has ruled a nation, whether for good or ill, he has left his mark; and where there has been no strong man, the annals of the time are vapid and uninteresting. Governments emanate from social influences. The social rule of the Roman Emperors bred athletes, heroes, and poets, merely because physical strength and courage, combined with heroism and poetic perception were encouraged by Roman society. The social rule of England’s Elizabeth had its result in the brilliant attainments of the many great men who crowded her Court — the social rule of Victoria, until the death of the Prince Consort, bred gentle women and chivalrous men. In all these cases, the reigning monarchs governed society, and society governed politics. Politics, indeed, can scarcely be considered apart from society, because on the nature and character of society depend the nature and character of politics. If society is made up of corrupt women and unprincipled men, the spirit of political government will be as corrupt and unprincipled as they. If any King, beholding such a state of things, were to suddenly cut himself clear of the corruption, and to make a straight road for his own progress — clean and open — and elect to walk in it, society would follow his lead, and as a logical consequence politics would become honourable. But no monarchs have the courage of their opinions nowadays, — if only one sovereign of them all possessed such courage, he could move the world!
The long bright day unwound its sunny hours, crowned with blue skies and fragrant winds, and the life and movement of the fair city by the sea was gay, incessant and ever-changing. There was some popular interest and excitement going on down at the quay, for the usual idle crowd had collected to see the Royal yacht being prepared for her afternoon’s cruise. Though she was always kept ready for sailing, the King’s orders this time had been sudden and peremptory, and, consequently, all the men on board were exceptionally hard at work getting things in immediate readiness. The fact that the Queen was to accompany the King in the afternoon’s trip to The Islands, where up to the present she had never been, was a matter of lively comment, — her extraordinary beauty never failing to attract a large number of sight-seers.
In the general excitement, no one saw Professor von Glauben quietly enter a small and common sailing skiff, manned by two ordinary fishermen of the shore, and scud away with the wind over the sea towards the west, where, in the distance on this clear day, a gleaming line of light showed where The Islands lay, glistening like emerald and pearl in the midst of the dark blue waste of water. His departure was unnoticed, though as a rule the King’s private physician commanded some attention, not only by reason of his confidential post in the Royal household, but also on account of certain rumours which were circulated through the country concerning his wonderful skill in effecting complete cures where all hope of recovery had been abandoned. It was whispered, indeed, that he had discovered the ‘Elixir of Life,’ but that he would not allow its properties to be made known, lest as the Scripture saith, man should ‘take and eat and live for ever.’ It was not advisable — so the Professor was reported to have said — that all men should live for ever, — but only a chosen few; and he, at present, was apparently the privileged person who alone was fitted to make the selection of those few. For this and various other reasons, he was generally looked at with considerable interest, but this morning, owing to the hurried preparations for the embarking of their Majesties on board the Royal yacht, he managed to escape from even chance recognition, — and he was well over the sea, and more than half-way to his destination before the bells of the city struck noon.
