Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli, page 574
part #22 of Delphi Series Series
Meanwhile, in the thick darkness of the hall below, while Von Glauben and De Launay were groping their way to the door which was cautiously held open by Sholto, Lotys, moving with hesitating steps down the stairs, felt rather than saw a head turned back upon her, — a flash of eyes in the darkness, and heard her name breathed softly:
“Lotys!”
She grew dizzy and uncertain of her footing; she could not answer. Suddenly a strong arm caught her, — she was drawn into a close, fierce, jealous clasp; warm lips caressed her hair, her brow, her eyes; and a voice whispered in her ear:
“You love me, Lotys! You love me! Hush! — do not deny it — you cannot deny it! — you know it, as I know it! — you have told me you love me! You love me, my Love! You love me!”
Another moment — and the King passed quietly out of the door with a bland ‘Good-night’ to Sholto, and joining his two companions, raised his hat to Lotys with a courteous salutation.
“Good-night, Madame!”
She stood in the doorway, shuddering violently from head to foot, — watching his tall figure disappear in the shadows of the street. Then stretching out her hands blindly, she gave a faint cry, and murmuring something inarticulate to the alarmed Sholto, fell senseless at his feet.
CHAPTER XXX. — KING AND SOCIALIST
To many persons of the servile or flunkey habit, the idea that a king should ever comport himself as an ordinary, — or extraordinary, — man, seems more or less preposterous; while to conceive him as endowed with dash, spirit, and a love of adventure is judged almost as absurd and impossible. The only potentate that ever appears, in legendary lore, to have indulged himself to his heart’s content in the sport of adopting a disguise and going about unrecognised among his subjects, is the witty and delightful hero of the ‘Arabian Nights’ Entertainment,’ Caliph Haroun Alraschid, who, as Tennyson describes him, had
“Deep eyes, laughter-stirred
With merriment of kingly pride;
Sole star of all that place and time,
I saw him in his golden prime.
The good Haroun Alraschid!”
We accept Haroun; and acknowledge him to have been wise in the purport of his wanderings through the streets of the city, — gaining new experience with every hour, and studying the needs and complaints of his people for himself; — but if we should be told of a modern monarch doing likewise in our own day, we should mount on the stiff hobby-horse of our ridiculous conventionality, and accuse him of having brought the dignity of the Throne into contempt. Yet nothing perhaps can be more contemptible than a monarch who is too surrounded by flunkeyism to be a Man, — and, on the other hand, nothing could be more beneficial than the feeling that perhaps a monarch may be so much of a man after all that no one can be quite certain as to his whereabouts. It would be well if some rowdy ‘clubs’ could be restrained by the idea that the Sovereign of the Realm might step in unexpectedly, — or if the ‘slums’ could scarcely be able to tell when he might not be among their inmates, disguised as one of them, studying and knowing more in a day than his ministers would tell him in several years. It is generally admitted that no man is fit for a profession till he has thoroughly mastered its possibilities, — yet it is not too much to declare that in the profession of Sovereignty the few who practise it, have mastered it to so little purpose, that they are almost entirely blind to the singular advantages which they might obtain, not only for themselves, but for the entire world, if they chose to put forth their own individuality, and, instead of wasting their time on the scheming and self-seeking sections of Society, elected to try their powers on the working and trade communities of the nation. But throughout all history, the various careers of kings and emperors contain instructive lessons of Lost Opportunity. Allowing for the differences of climate and temperament, it may be taken for granted that no people of any country are constitutionally able to rise above a certain height of enthusiasm; and that when the high-water mark is reached, their enthusiasm cools, and a reaction invariably sets in. For this cause a monarch should never rely too much on the plaudits of the mob in a time of conquest, or public festival of jubilation. He should look upon such acclamation as the mere rising of a wave, which must in due time sink again, — and if he would know his people thoroughly, he should study that same shouting mob, not when it is affected by hysteria, but during its everyday level condition of stubborn and patient toil. So will he perhaps be able to lay his finger on the sore places of life, and to find out where the seed of mischief is planted, before it begins to grow. But he must give an individual interest to such work; no information must be obtained or given through this person or that person, — for the old maxim that ‘if you want anything done, do it yourself’ applies to kings as well as to all other classes of men.
That the old adage had been amply practised by one king at least, was soon known throughout the capital of the country over which the monarch here written of held dominion. Somehow, and by some means or other, the story oozed out bit by bit and in guarded whispers, that the King had ‘trapped’ Carl Pérousse, as well as several other defaulting ministers, — and that, strange and incredible as it appeared, he himself was the very ‘Pasquin Leroy’ whose political polemics had created such a stir. Once started, the rumour flew; — some disbelieved it; — others listened, with ears stretched wide, greedy for more detail, — but presently the scattered threads of gossip became woven into a consecutive web of certainty so far as one point, at least, was concerned, — and this was, that the King would personally address his Parliament during the ensuing week on matters of national safety and importance. Such an announcement was altogether unprecedented, and excited the whole country’s attention. Plenty of discussion there was, as to whether the King had any right to so address the members of the Government, — and some oracular journals were of the opinion that he was acting in an ‘unconstitutional manner.’ On the other hand, it was discovered and proved that there was no actual law forbidding the Sovereign to speak when any question of urgency appeared to call for his expressed opinion.
While this affair was being contested and argued, a considerable sensation was created by the news that the Marquis de Lutera had suddenly left the country, — ostensibly for his health, which, everyone was assured, had completely broken down. People shook their heads ominously, and wondered when the King would give M. Pérousse the task of forming a new Ministry, — while they watched with deepening interest the progress of the various Government debates, which were carried on in the usual way, following the lines laid down by the absent Premier, Marquis de Lutera. Carl Pérousse, confronted by a thousand difficulties, maintained his usual equable and audacious attitude, scouting with scorn the rumour that the Socialist writer, ‘Pasquin Leroy’ was merely a disguise adopted by the King himself, — and he was as cool and imperturbable as ever when one morning David Jost succeeded in finding him at home, and obtaining an audience.
“It was the King!” burst out Jost, as soon as he found himself alone with his ally; “It was the King himself who wore Lutera’s signet, and came to me disguised so well that his own father would not have known him! The King himself, I say! And I told him everything!”
“More fool you!” returned Pérousse quietly; “However, fools generally have to pay the price of their folly!”
“And knaves!” said Jost furiously; “But there is a power which cannot be controlled, even by kings or statesmen — and that is — the pen!”
“And do you think you can use the pen?” queried Pérousse indolently; “Excellent Shylock, you know you cannot! You can pay others to use it for you! That is all!”
“I can make short work of you at any rate!” said Jost, his little eyes sparkling with rage; “For I see plainly enough now that even if our plans had succeeded, you would have left me in the lurch!”
“Of course!” smiled Pérousse; “Are you so simple in the world’s ways as not to be able to realise that such Jew pressmen as you are only made for the use of politicians? We drop you, when we have done with you! Go to London, Jost! Start a paper there! It is the very place for you! Get a Cardinal to back you up, with funds to be used for the ‘conversion’ of England! Or give a hundred thousand pounds to a hospital! You can become naturalised as an Englishman if you like; any country does for a Jew! And you will be a power of the realm in no time! They manage these sort of things capitally there!”
“By God!” said Jost; “I could kill you!”
“What for?” demanded Pérousse; “Because you think I am going to be proved a political fraud? Wait and see! If the King denounces me, I am prepared to denounce the King!”
Jost stared, then laughed aloud.
“Denounce the King! You are bold! But you make up your sum with the wrong numerals this time! The King holds the complete list of your speculations in his hand, — he has got them through the agency of the Revolutionary Committee, to which your stockbroker’s confidential clerk belongs! You fool! All your schemes — all your ‘companies’ are known to him root and branch — and you say you will ‘denounce’ him! If you do, it will be a real comedy! — the case of a thief denouncing the officer who has caught him red-handed in the act of thieving!”
With this parting shot, he made a violent exit. Pérousse left alone, dismissed him, with all other harassments from his mind; for being entirely without a conscience, he had very little care as to the results of the King’s reported intentions. He was preparing a brilliant speech, which he intended to deliver if occasion demanded; and on his own coolness, mendacity and pluck, he staked his future.
“If I fail,” he said to himself; “I will go to the United States, and end by becoming President! There are many such plans open to a man of resources!”
During the ensuing few days there were some extra gaieties at the Palace, — and the King and Queen were seen daily in public. Everywhere, they were greeted with frantic outbursts of cheering, and the recent riotous outbreaks seemed altogether forgotten. The Opera was crowded nightly, and undeterred by the fear of any fresh manifestations of popular discontent, their Majesties were again present. This time the King was the first to lead off the applause that hailed Pequita’s dancing. And how her little feet flew! — how her eyes sparkled with rapture — how the dark curls tossed, and the cherry lips smiled! To her the King remained Pasquin! — a kind of monarch in a fairy tale, who scattered benefits at a touch, and sunshine with a glance, and who deserved all the love and loyalty of every subject in the kingdom! But she had never had any idea of ‘Revolution,’ poor child! — save such a revolving of chance and circumstance as should enable her father to live in comfort, without anxiety for his latter days. And perhaps at the bottom of all political or religious fanaticism we should find an equally simple root of cause for the effect.
The day at last came when Sergius Thord held his mighty ‘mass meeting,’ convened in the Cathedral square, — all ready for marching orders. No interference was offered either from soldiery or police; and the people came pouring up from every quarter of the city in their thousands and tens of thousands. By noon, the tall lace-like spire of the Cathedral towered above a vast sea of human heads, which from a distance looked like swarming bees; and as the bells struck the hour, Thord, mounting the steps of a monument erected to certain heroes who had long ago fallen in battle, was greeted with a roar of acclamation like the thunder of heaven’s own artillery. But even while the multitude still shouted and cheered, the sight of another figure, which quietly ascended to the same position, caused a sudden hush, — a gradually deepening silence of amazement and awe, — and then finally swift recognition.
“The King!” cried a voice.
“Pasquin Leroy!” shouted another, who was answered by yells and shrieks of derision.
“The King!” was again the cry. And as the vast crowd circled round and round, its million eyes wonderingly upturned, Sergius Thord suddenly lifted his cap and waved it:
“Ay! The King!” His voice rang over the heads of the people with a rich thrill of command. “The King, who here declares himself the friend of our Cause! The King, who is with us to-day of his own will, at his own request, by his own choice! — without escort, — unarmed — defenceless! The King! The King who has resolved to go with us, and demand justice for his overtaxed and suffering subjects! The King, who is one with us! — who seeks no greater kingliness than that of being loved and trusted by his People!”
The surprise of this announcement was so truly overpowering, that for the moment the mighty mass of men stood inert; then, — as the situation flashed upon them, such a thunder of cheering broke out as seemed to make the very earth rock and the houses in the square tremble. The King himself, standing by Thord, grew pale as he heard it, and his eyes were suffused with something like tears.
“By Heaven!” he murmured; “The love of this people is worth having!”
“Did you ever doubt it?” queried Thord slowly, eyeing him with a touch of wonder not unmixed with jealousy; “There is only one power which keeps a king on his throne — the confidence of the nation! You had nearly lost that! For though there is nothing so easy to win, there is nothing so easy to lose!”
“True!” said the monarch, his eyes still resting tenderly on the excited multitude below him. “I have deserved little at the people’s hands — but perhaps — when I am gone—” he paused abruptly, then with a smile added— “Give us our marching orders, Sergius!”
Thord obeyed, — and very soon, under his command, the huge multitude arranged itself in blocks, or regiments, perfectly organised in different companies, and entirely prepared to keep order. Dividing into equal lines they made way quickly and with enthusiasm as they perceived the King’s charger, which, richly caparisoned, had been brought for his Majesty at Thord’s own earnest request.
When all was ready, the King sprang into the saddle, and gathering the reins in one hand, sat for a moment bare-headed, the people surging round him with repeated outbursts of applause. Without a weapon, — without a single man of his own household to bear him company, — without any armed escort, — he remained there enthroned; — the centre, — not of ‘society,’ — but of the People, who gathered round him as their visible Head, with as much shouting and enthusiasm and worship, as if he had, in his own person, made the conquest, single-handed, of a hundred nations! Never, in his most gorgeous apparel, — never, even when robed and crowned in state, had he looked so noble; never had he seemed so worthy of the highest honour, reverence and admiration, as now! At a signal from Thord, who led the way on foot, the thousands of the city began to march to the House of Government, all gathering round one principal figure, that of their King. A group of workmen constituted themselves his body-guard, protecting his proudly-stepping charger from so much as a stone that might startle it or check its progress, and thus — liberated from the protection of flunkeys and flatterers, — the monarch, surrounded by his true subjects advanced together as one Body, to challenge and overthrow a fraudulent Ministry, whose measures had been drawn up and passed, not for the good of the country, but for the financial advantage and protection of themselves.
Never was such a wondrous sight seen, as that almost interminable procession through the broad thoroughfares of the city, headed by a Socialist, and centred by a King! No Royal ceremonial, overburdened with snobbish conventionalities and hypocritical parade, ever presented so splendid and imposing a sight as that concentrated mass of the actual people, — the working muscle and sinew of the land’s common weal, marching in steady and triumphant order, — surging like the billows of the sea around that brave ship, their Sovereign, cheering him to the echo, and waving around him the flags of the country, while he, still bare-headed, rode dauntless in their midst looking every inch a king! — more kingly indeed than he had ever seemed, and more established in the affections of his subjects than any living monarch of the time. So was he brought with ceaseless acclamation to the Government House, where, as all knew, he purposed denouncing Carl Pérousse; — and thus did he assert in his own person that a king, supported by a nation, is more powerful than any government built up by mere party agency!
And even so, at his best and bravest, two women looked upon him and loved him! One, from the outskirts of the great crowd where, shrouded close in her veil, she waited tremblingly near the Government buildings, and saw him alight from his charger, and enter there, amid the wild shoutings of the populace, — the other, from a high window in the Royal Palace, where she leaned watching the crowd, — the sunlight catching the diamonds at her breast and sparkling in her proud cold eyes. And over the whole city rang the continuous and exultant cry:
“The King! The King!”
And perhaps only one soul, prophetic in instinct, foresaw any terror in the triumph! — only one voice, low and tremulous and weighted with tears and prayers, murmured:
“Ah, dear God! Would he were not a King!”
CHAPTER XXXI. — A VOTE FOR LOVE
Next day it was known through the length and breadth of the city that the King, so long judged as a political Dummy, had proved himself a living, acting authority. Every journal in city and province led off its news under the one chief heading,— ‘The King’s Speech.’ The King had spoken; — and with no uncertain voice. Cool, brilliant in wording, concise in statement, — cuttingly correct in facts, convincing in argument, his unexpected denouncement of Carl Pérousse, and the Pérousse ‘majority,’ swept the Government off their feet by its daring courage, and still more daring veracity. Documentary evidence of the dishonourable speculations with the public money which had been so freely indulged in by the Secretary of State, aided and abetted by the Premier, was handed by the King in person to the authorities whose business it was to examine such proofs, — the dishonourable measures used to retain the ‘majority’ were fully exposed, and the whole House stood thunderstruck and mentally paralysed, under the straight accusation and merciless condemnation launched at their own lax tolerance of such iniquitous practices, by their reigning monarch. With perfect dignity and impressive calm, the King quietly demanded whether M. Carl Pérousse would be pleased to explain his actions? Whether he had anything to say in response to the charges brought against him? To this last query, after a dead silence, during which every eye was fixed on the defaulting Minister, who, in the course of the Royal speech had seen every bulwark of his own intended defence torn away from him, Pérousse, with an ashy white countenance answered:
