Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli, page 563
part #22 of Delphi Series Series
Her sweet voice thrilled with passion, — her cheeks glowed, — unconsciously she stretched out her uninjured hand with an eloquent gesture of pride and conviction. The King’s figure, till now rigid and motionless, stirred; — advancing a step, he took that hand before she could withhold it, and raised it to his lips.
“Madame, I am twice honoured!” he said, in accents that shook ever so slightly— “To resemble a good man even outwardly is something, — to wear in any degree the lineaments of one whom a brave and true woman honours by her love is still more! You have made me very much your debtor” — here he gently relinquished the hand he had kissed— “but believe me, I shall endeavour most faithfully to meet the claim you have upon my gratitude!” Here he paused, and drawing back, bowed courteously. “The way for your departure is clear,” he continued;— “I have ordered a carriage to be in waiting at one of the private entrances to the Palace. Professor von Glauben, my physician, who has just attended you, will escort you to it. You will pass out quite unnoticed, — and be, — as you desire it — again at full liberty. Let the memory of the King whose life you saved trouble you no more, — except when you look upon his better counterpart! — as then, perchance, you may think more kindly of him! For he has to suffer! — not so much for his own faults, as for the faults of a system formulated by his ancestors.”
Her intense eyes glowed with a fire of enthusiasm as she lifted them to his face.
“Kingship would be a grand system,” she said, “if kings were true! And Autocracy would be the best and noblest form of government in the world, if autocrats could be found who were intellectual and honest at one and the same time!”
He looked at her observantly.
“You think they are neither?”
“I think? ‘I’ am nothing, — my opinions count for nothing! But History gives evidence, and supplies proof of their incompetency. A great king, — good as well as great, — would be the salvation of this present time of the world!”
Still he kept his eyes upon her.
“Go on!” — he said— “There is something in your mind which you would fain express to me more openly. You have eloquent features, Madame! — and your looks are the candid mirror of your thoughts. Speak, I beg of you!”
The light of a daring inward hope flashed in her face and inspired her very attitude, as she stood before him, entirely regardless of herself.
“Then, — since you give me leave, — I will speak!” she said; “For perhaps I shall never see you again — never have the chance to ask you, as a Man whom the mere accident of birth has made a king, to have more thought, more pity, more love for your subjects! Surely you should be their guardian — their father — their protector? Surely you should not leave them to become the prey of unscrupulous financiers or intriguing Churchmen? Some say you are yourself involved in the cruel schemes which are slowly but steadily robbing this country’s people of their Trades, the lawful means of their subsistence; and that you approve, in the main, of the private contracts which place our chief manufactures and lines of traffic in the hands of foreign rivals. But I do not believe this. We — and by we, I mean the Revolutionary party — try hard not to believe this! I admit to you, as faithfully as if I stood on my trial before you, that much of the work to which we, as a party have pledged ourselves, consists in moving the destruction of the Monarchy, and the formation of a Republic. But why? Only because the Monarchy has proved itself indifferent to the needs of the people, and deaf to their protestations against injustice! Thus we have conceived it likely that a Republic might help to mend matters, — if it were in power for at least some twenty or thirty years, — but at the same time we know well enough that if a King ruled over us who was indeed a King, — who would refuse to be the tool of party speculators, and who could not be moved this way or that by the tyrants of finance, the people would have far more chance of equality and right under a Republic even! Only we cannot find that king! — no country can! You, for instance, are no hero! You will not think for yourself, though you might; you only interest yourself in affairs that may redound to your personal and private credit; or in those which affect ‘society,’ the most dissolute portion of the community, — and you have shown so little individuality in yourself or your actions, that your unexpected refusal to grant Crown lands to the Jesuits was scarcely believed in or accepted, otherwise than as a caprice, till your own ‘official’ announcement. Even now we can scarcely be brought to look upon it except as an impulse inspired by fear! Herein, we do you, no doubt, a grave injustice; I, for one, honestly believe that you have refused these lands to the Priest-Politicians, out of earnest consideration for the future peace and welfare of your subjects.”
“Nay, why believe even thus much of me?” he interrupted with a grave smile; “May you not be misled by that Resemblance I bear, to one who is, in your eyes, so much my superior?”
A faint expression of offence darkened her face, and her brows contracted.
“You are pleased to jest!” she said coldly; “As I said before, it is man’s only way of turning aside, or concluding all argument with a woman! I am mistaken perhaps in the instinct which has led me to speak to you as openly as I have done, — and yet, — I know in my heart I can do you no harm by telling you the truth, as others would never tell it to you! Many times within this last two months the people have sent in petitions to you against the heavy taxes with which your Government is afflicting them, and they can get no answer to their desperate appeals. Is it kingly — is it worthy of your post as Head of this realm, to turn a deaf ear to the cries of those whose hard-earned money keeps you on the Throne, housed in luxury, guarded from every possible evil, and happily ignorant of the pangs of want and hunger? How can you, if you have a heart, permit such an iniquitous act on the part of your Government as the setting of a tax on bread? — the all in all of life to the very poor! Have you ever seen young children crying for bread? I have! Have you ever seen strong men reduced to the shame of stealing bread, to feed their wives and infants? I have! I think of it as I stand here, surrounded by the luxury which is your daily lot, — and knowing what I know, I would strip these satin-draped walls, and sell everything of value around me if I possessed it, rather than know that one woman or child starved within the city’s precincts! Your Ministers tell you there is a deficiency in the Exchequer, — but you do not ask why, or how the deficiency arose! You do not ask whether Ministers themselves have not been trafficking and speculating with the country’s money! For if deficiency there be, it has arisen out of the Government’s mismanagement! The Government have had the people’s money, — and have thrown it recklessly away. Therefore, they have no right to ask for more, to supply what they themselves have wilfully wasted. No right, I say! — no right to rob them of another coin! If I were a man, and a king like you, I would voluntarily resign more than half my annual kingly income to help that deficit in the National Exchequer till it had been replaced; — I would live poor, — and be content to know that by my act I had won far more than many millions — a deathless, and beloved name of honour with my people!”
She paused. He said not a word. Suddenly she became conscious that her hair was unbound and falling loosely about her; she had almost forgotten this till now. A wave of colour swept over her face, — but she mastered her embarrassment, and gathering the long tresses together in her left hand, twisted them up slowly, and with an evident painful effort. The King watched her, a little smile hovering about his mouth.
“If I might help you!” he said softly— “but — that is a task for my Resemblance!”
She appeared not to hear him. A sudden determination moved her, and she uttered her thought boldly and at all hazards.
“If you do not, as the public report, approve of the financial schemes out of which your Ministers make their fortunes, to the utter ruin of the people in general,” she said slowly; “Dismiss Carl Pérousse from office! So may you perchance avert a great national disaster!”
He permitted himself to smile indulgently.
“Madame, you may ask much! — and however great your demands, I will do my utmost to meet and comply with them; — but like all your charming sex, you forget that a king can seldom or never interfere with a political situation! It would be very unwise policy on my part to dismiss M. Pérousse, seeing that he is already nominated as the next Premier.”
“The next Premier!” Lotys echoed the words with a passionate scorn; “If that is so, I give you an honest warning! The people will revolt, — no force can hold them back or keep them in check! And if you should command your soldiery to fire on the populace, there must be bloodshed and crime! — on your head be the result! Oh, are you not, can you not be something higher than even a king? — an honest man? Will you not open the eyes of your mind to see the wickedness, falsehood and treachery of this vile Minister, who ministers only to his own ends? — who feigns incorruptibility in order to more easily corrupt others? — who assumes the defence of outlying states, merely to hide the depredations he is making on home power? Nay, if you will not, you are not worth a beggar’s blessing! — and I shall wonder to myself why God made of you so exact a copy of one whom I know to be a good man!”
Her breath came and went quickly, — her cheeks were flushed, and great tears stood in her eyes. But he seemed altogether unmoved.
“I’ faith, I shall wonder too!” he said very tranquilly; “Good men are scarce! — and to be the copy of one is excellent, though it may in some cases be misleading! Madame, I have heard you with patience, and — if you will permit me to say so — admiration! I honour your courage — your frankness — and — still more — your absolute independence. You speak of wrongs to the People. If such wrongs indeed exist — —”
“If!” interrupted Lotys with a whole world of meaning in the expression.
“I say, if they indeed exist, I will, as far as I may, — endeavour to remedy them. I, personally, have no hesitation in declaring to you that I am not involved in the financial schemes to which you allude — though I know two or three of my fellow-sovereigns who are! But I do not care sufficiently for money to indulge in speculation. Nevertheless, let me tell you, speculation is good, and even necessary in matters affecting national finance, and I am confident—” here he smiled enigmatically, “that the country’s honour is safe in the hands of M. Pérousse!”
At this she lifted her head proudly and looked at him, with eyes that expressed so magnificent a disdain, that had he been any other than the man he was, he might have quailed beneath the lightning flash of such utter contempt.
“You are confident that the country’s honour is safe!” she repeated bitterly; “I am confident that it is betrayed and shamed! And History will set a curse against the King who helped in its downfall!”
He regarded her with a vague, lingering gentleness.
“You are harsh, Madame!” he said softly; “But you could not offend me if you tried! I quarrel with none of your sex! And you will, I hope, think better of me some day, — and not be sorry — as perhaps you are now — for having saved a life so worthless! Farewell!”
She offered no response. The silken portière rustled and swayed, — the door opened and shut again quietly — he was gone. Left alone, Lotys dropped wearily on the sofa, and burying her head in the soft cushions, gave way to an outburst of tears and sobbed like a tired and exhausted child. In this condition Professor von Glauben, entering presently, found her. But his sympathy, if he felt any, was outwardly very chill and formal. Another dose of his ‘cordial,’ — a careful examination and re-strapping of the wounded shoulder, — these summed up the whole of his consolation; and his precise cold manner did much to restore her to her self-possession. She thanked him in a few words for his professional attention, without raising her eyes to his face, and quietly followed him down a long narrow passage which terminated in a small private door giving egress to the Royal pleasure-grounds, — and here a hired close carriage was waiting. Putting her carefully into this vehicle, the Professor then delivered himself of his last instructions.
“The driver has no orders beyond the citadel, Madame,” he explained. “His Majesty begged me to say that he has no desire to seem inquisitive as to your place of residence. You will therefore please inform the coachman yourself as to where you wish to be driven. And take care of that so-much-wounded shoulder!” he added, relapsing into a kinder and less formal tone;— “It will pain you, — but there will be no inflammation, not now I have treated it! — and it will heal quickly, that I will guarantee — I, who have had first care of it!”
She thanked him again in a low voice, — there was an uncomfortable lump in her throat, and tears still trembled on her lashes.
“Remember well,” said the Professor cheerily; “how very grateful we are to you! What we shall do for you some day, we do not yet know! A monument in the public square, or a bust in the Cathedral? Ha, ha! Goodbye! You have the blessing of the nation with you!”
She shook her head deprecatingly, — she tried to smile, but she could not trust herself to speak. The carriage rolled swiftly down the broad avenue and soon disappeared, and the Professor, having watched the last flash of its wheels vanish between the arching trees, executed a slow and somewhat solemn pas-seul on the doorstep where it had left him.
“Ach so!” he exclaimed, almost audibly; “The King’s Comedy progresses! But it had nearly taken the form of Tragedy to-day — and now Tragedy itself has melted into sentiment, and tears, and passion! And with this very difficult kind of human mixture, the worst may happen!”
He re-entered the Palace and returned with some haste to the apartments of the King, whither he had been bidden.
But on arriving there he was met by an attendant in the ante-room who informed him that his Majesty had retired to his private library and desired to be left alone.
CHAPTER XXV.— “I SAY— ‘ROME’!”
The State prison was a gloomy fortress built on a wedge of rock that jutted far out into the ocean. It stood full-fronted to the north, and had opposed its massive walls and huge battlements to every sort of storm for many centuries. It was a relic of mediaeval days, when torture no less than death, was the daily practice of the law, and when persons were punished as cruelly for light offences as for the greatest crimes. It was completely honeycombed with dungeons and subterranean passages, which led to the sea, — and in one of the darkest and deepest of these underground cells, the wretched youth who had attempted the life of the King, was placed under the charge of two armed warders, who marched up and down outside the heavily-barred door, keeping close watch and guard. Neither they nor anyone else had exchanged a word with the prisoner since his arrest. He had given them no trouble. He had been carefully searched, but nothing of an incriminating nature had been found upon him, — nothing to point to any possible instigator of his dastard crime. He had entered the dungeon allotted to him with almost a cheerful air, — he had muttered half-inaudible thanks for the bread and water which had been passed to him through the grating; and he had seated himself upon the cold bench, hewn out of the stone wall, with a resignation that might have easily passed for pleasure. As the time wore on, however, and the reality of his position began to press more consciously upon his senses, the warders heard him sigh deeply, and move restlessly, and once he gave a cry like that of a wounded animal, exclaiming: —
“For Thy sake, Lord Christ! For Thy sake I strove — for Thy sake, and in Thy service! Thou wilt not leave me here to perish!”
He had been brought to the prison immediately after his murderous attack, and the time had then been about four in the afternoon. It was now night; and all over the city the joy-bells were clashing out music from the Cathedral towers, to express the popular thanksgiving for the miraculous escape and safety of the King. The echo of the chimes which had been ringing ever since sunset, was caught by the sea and thrown back again upon the air, so that it partially drowned the melancholy clang of the prison bell, which in its turn, tolled forth the dreary passing of the time for those to whom liberty had become the merest shadow of a dream. As it struck nine, a priest presented himself to the Superintendent of the prison, bearing a ‘permit’ from General Bernhoff, Head of the Police, to visit and ‘confess’ the prisoner. He was led to the cell and admitted at once. At the noise of a stranger’s entrance, the criminal raised himself from the sunken attitude into which he had fallen on his stone bench, and watched, by the light of the dim lamp set in the wall, the approach of his tall, gaunt, black-garmented visitor with evident horror and fear. When, — with the removal of the shovel hat and thick muffler which had helped to disguise that visitor’s personality, — the features of Monsignor Del Fortis were disclosed, he sprang forward and threw himself on his knees.
“Mercy! — Mercy!” he moaned— “Have pity on me, in the name of God!”
Del Fortis looked down upon him with contempt, as though he were some loathsome reptile writhing at his feet. “Silence!” he said, in a harsh whisper— “Remember, we are watched here! Get up! — why do you kneel to me? I have nothing to do with you, beyond such office as the Church enjoins!” And a cold smile darkened, rather than lightened his features. “I am sent to administer ‘spiritual consolation’ to you!”
