MAJESTY CONSIDERS AND RESOLVES
The little episode of his first love, combined with his ungovernable
fury and despair at its tragic conclusion, had of course the natural
result common in such a case, to the fate of all who are destined to
occupy thrones. A marriage was ‘arranged’ for him; and pressing reasons
of state were urged for the quick enforcement and carrying out of the
‘arrangement.’ The daughter of a neighbouring potentate was elected
to the honour of his alliance,--a beautiful girl with a pale, cold
clear-cut face and brilliant eyes, whose smile penetrated the soul with
an icy chill, and whose very movement, noiseless and graceful as it was,
reminded one irresistibly of slowly drifting snow. She was attended
to the altar, as he was, by all the ministers and plenipotentiaries of
state that could possibly be gathered together from the four quarters of
the globe as witnesses to the immolation of two young human lives on
the grim sacrificial stone of a Dynasty; and both prince and princess
accepted their fate with mutually silent and civil resignation. Their
portraits, set facing each other with a silly smile, or taken in
a linked arm-in-arm attitude against a palatial canvas background,
appeared in every paper published throughout the world, and every
scribbler on the Press took special pains to inform the easily
deluded public that the Royal union thus consummated was ‘a romantic
love-match.’ For the People still have heart and conscience,--the
People, taken in the rough lump of humanity, still believe in love, in
faith, in the dear sweetness of home affections. The politicians who
make capital out of popular emotion, know this well enough,--and are
careful to play the tune of their own personal interest upon the gamut
of National Sentiment in every stump oration. For how terrible it
would be if the People of any land learned to judge their preachers and
teachers by the lines of fact alone! Inasmuch as fact would convincingly
prove to them that their leaders prospered and grew rich, while they
stayed poor; and they might take to puzzling out reasons for this
inadequacy which would inevitably cause trouble. For this, and divers
other motives politic, the rosy veil of sentiment is always
delicately flung more or less over every new move on the national
debating-ground,--and whether marriageable princes and princesses love
or loathe each other, still, when they come to wed, the words ‘romantic
love-match’ must be thrown in by an obliging Press in order to satisfy
the tender scruples of a people who would certainly not abide the
thought of a Royal marriage contracted in mutual aversion. Thus much
soundness and right principle there is at least, in what some superfine
persons call the ‘common’ folk,--the folk whose innermost sense of truth
and straightforwardness, not even the proudest statesman dare outrage.
But with what unuttered and unutterable scorn the youthful victims
of the Royal pairing accepted the newspaper-assurances of the devoted
tenderness they entertained for each other! With what wearied
impatience both prince and princess received the ‘Wedding Odes’ and
‘Epithalamiums,’ written by first-class and no-class versifiers for the
occasion! What shoals of these were cast aside unread, to occupy the
darkest dingiest corner of one of the Royal ‘refuse’ libraries! The
writers of such things expected great honours, no doubt, each and every
man-jack of them,--but apart from the fact that the greatest literature
has always lived without any official recognition or endowment from
kings,--being in itself the supremest sovereignty,--poets and rhymesters
alike never seem to realize that no one is, or can be, so sickened by an
‘Ode’ as the man or woman to whom it is written!
The brilliant marriage ceremony concluded, the august bride and
bridegroom took their departure, amid frantically cheering crowds, for
a stately castle standing high among the mountains, a truly magnificent
pile, which had been placed at their disposal for the ‘honeymoon’ by
one of the wealthiest of the King’s subjects,--and there, as soon as
equerries, grooms-in-waiting, flunkeys, and every other sort of indoor
and outdoor retainer would consent to leave them alone together, the
Royal wife came to her Royal husband, and asked to be allowed to speak
a few words on the subject of their marriage, ‘for the first and last
time,’ said she, with a straight glance from the cold moonlight mystery
of her eyes. Beautiful at all times, her beauty was doubly enhanced by
the regal attitude and expression she unconsciously assumed as she made
the request, and the prince, critically studying her form and features,
could not but regard himself as in some respects rather particularly
favoured by the political and social machinery which had succeeded in
persuading so fair a creature to resign herself to the doubtful destiny
of a throne. She had laid aside her magnificent bridal-robes of ivory
satin and cloth-of-gold,--and appeared before him in loose draperies of
floating white, with her rich hair unbound and rippling to her knees.
“May I speak?” she murmured, and her voice trembled.
“Most assuredly!”--he replied, half smiling--“You do me too much honour
by requesting the permission!”
As he spoke, he bowed profoundly, but she, raising her eyes, fixed them
full upon him with a strange look of mingled pride and pain.
“Do not,” she said, “let us play at formalities! Let us be honest
with each other for to-night at least! All our life together must from
henceforth be more or less of a masquerade, but let us for to-night be
as true man and true woman, and frankly face the position into which we
have been thrust, not by ourselves, but by others.”
Profoundly astonished, the prince was silent. He had not thought this
girl of nineteen possessed any force of character or any intellectual
power of reasoning. He had judged her as no doubt glad to become a great
princess and a possible future queen, and he had not given her credit
for any finer or higher feeling.
“You know,”--she continued--“you must surely know--” here, despite the
strong restraint she put upon herself, her voice broke, and her slight
figure swayed in its white draperies as if about to fall. She looked at
him with a sense of rising tears in her throat,--tears of which she
was ashamed,--for she was full of a passionate emotion too strong for
weeping--a contempt of herself and of him, too great for mere clamour.
Was he so much of a man in the slow thick density of his brain she
thought, as to have no instinctive perception of her utter misery? He
hastened to her and tried to take her hands, but she drew herself away
from him and sank down in a chair as if exhausted.
“You are tired!” he said kindly--“The tedious ceremonial--the still more
tedious congratulations,--and the fatiguing journey from the capital to
this place have been too much for your strength. You must rest!”
“It is not that!”--she answered--“not that! I am not tired,--but--but--I
cannot say my prayers tonight till you know my whole heart!”
A curious reverence and pity moved him. All day long he had been in
a state of resentful irritation,--he had loathed himself for having
consented to marry this girl without loving her,--he had branded himself
inwardly as a liar and hypocrite when he had sworn his marriage vows
‘before God,’ whereas if he truly believed in God, such vows taken
untruthfully were mere blasphemy;--and now she herself, a young thing
tenderly brought up like a tropical flower in the enervating hot-house
atmosphere of Court life, yet had such a pure, deep consciousness of God
in her, that she actually could not pray with the slightest blur of a
secret on her soul! He waited wonderingly.
“I have plighted my faith to you before God’s altar to-day,” she said,
speaking more steadily,--“because after long and earnest thought, I saw
that there was no other way of satisfying the two nations to which we
belong, and cementing the friendly relations between them. There is
no woman of Royal birth,--so it has been pointed out to me--who is so
suitable, from a political point of view, to be your wife as I. It is
for the sake of your Throne and country that you must marry--and I
ask God to forgive me if I have done wrong in His sight by wedding
you simply for duty’s sake. My father, your father, and all who are
connected with our two families desire our union, and have assured
me that, it is right and good for me to give up my life to yours. All
women’s lives must be martyred to the laws made by men,--or so it seems
to me,--I cannot expect to escape from the general doom apportioned to
my sex. I therefore accept the destiny which transfers me to you as a
piece of human property for possession and command,--I accept it freely,
but I will not say gladly, because that would not be true. For I do not
love you,--I cannot love you! I want you to know that, and to feel it,
that you may not ask from me what I cannot give.”
There were no tears in her eyes; she looked at him straightly and
steadfastly. He, in his turn, met her gaze fully,--his face had paled
a little, and a shadow of pained regret and commiseration darkened his
handsome features.
“You love someone else?” he asked, softly.
She rose from her chair and confronted him, a glow of passionate pride
flushing her cheeks and brow.
“No!” she said--“I would not be a traitor to you in so much as
a thought! Had I loved anyone else I would never have married
you,--no!--though you had been ten times a prince and king! No! You
do not understand. I come to you heartwhole and passionless, without
a single love-word chronicled in my girlhood’s history, or a single
incident you may not know. I have never loved any man, because from
my very childhood I have hated and feared all men! I loathe their
presence--their looks--their voices--their manners,--if one should touch
my hand in ordinary courtesy, my instincts are offended and revolted,
and the sense of outrage remains with me for days. My mother knows of
this, and says I am ‘unnatural,’--it may be so. But unnatural or not, it
is the truth; judge therefore the extent of the sacrifice I make to God
and our two countries in giving myself to you!”
The prince stood amazed and confounded. Did she rave? Was she mad?
He studied her with a curious, half-doubting scrutiny, and noted the
composure of her attitude, the cold serenity of her expression,--there
was evidently no hysteria, no sur-excitation of nerves about this calm
statuesque beauty which in every line and curve of loveliness silently
mutinied against him, and despised him. Puzzled, yet fascinated, he
sought in his mind for some clue to her meaning.
“There are women” she went on--“to whom love, or what is called love, is
necessary,--for whom marriage is the utmost good of existence. I am not
one of these. Had I my own choice I would live my life away from all
men,--I would let nothing of myself be theirs to claim,--I would give
all I am and all I have to God, who made me what I am. For truly and
honestly, without any affectation at all, I look upon marriage, not as
an honour, but a degradation!”
Had she been less in earnest, he might have smiled at this, but her
beauty, intensified as it was by the fervour of her feeling, seemed
transfigured into something quite supernatural which for the moment
dazzled him.
“Am I to understand--” he began.
She interrupted him by a swift gesture, while the rich colour swept over
her face in a warm wave.
“Understand nothing”--she said,--“but this--that I do not love you,
because I can love no man! For the rest I am your wife; and as your
wife I give myself to you and your nation wholly and in all things--save
love!”
He advanced and took her hands in his.
“This is a strange bargain!” he said, and gently kissed her.
She answered nothing,--only a faint shiver trembled through her as she
endured the caress. For a moment or two he surveyed her in silence,--it
was a singular and novel experience for him, as a future king, to be the
lawful possessor of a woman’s beauty, and yet with all his sovereignty
to be unable to waken one thrill of tenderness in the frozen soul
imprisoned in such exquisite flesh and blood. He was inclined to
disbelieve her assertions,--surely he thought, there must be emotion,
feeling, passion in this fair creature, who, though she seemed a goddess
newly descended from inaccessible heights of heaven was still _only_
a woman? And upon the whole he was not ill-pleased with the curious
revelation she had made of herself. He preferred the coldness of women
to their volcanic eruptions, and would take more pains to melt the snow
of reserve than to add fuel to the flame of ardour.
“You have been very frank with me,” he said at last, after a pause, as
he loosened her hands and moved a little apart from her--“And whether
your physical and mental hatred of my sex is a defect in your nature,
or an exceptional virtue, I shall not quarrel with it. I am myself not
without faults; and the chiefest of these is one most common to all men.
I desire what I may not have, and covet what I do not possess. So! We
understand each other!”
She raised her eyes--those beautiful deep eyes with the moonlight
glamour in them,--and for an instant the shining Soul of her, pure and
fearless, seemed to spring up and challenge to spiritual combat him who
was now her body’s master. Then, bending her head with a graceful yet
proud submission, she retired.
From that time forth she never again spoke on this, or any other subject
of an intimate or personal nature, with her Royal spouse. Cold as an
iceberg, pure as a diamond, she accepted both wifehood and motherhood as
martyrdom, with an evident contempt for its humiliation, and without one
touch of love for either husband or children. She bore three sons, of
whom the eldest, and heir to the throne was, at the time this history
begins, just twenty. The passing of the years had left scarcely a trace
upon her beauty, save to increase it from the sparkling luminance of
a star to the glory of a full-orbed moon of loveliness,--and she had
easily won a triumph over all the other women around her, in the power
she possessed to command and retain the admiration of men. She was one
of those brilliant creatures who, like the Egyptian Cleopatra, never
grow old,--for she was utterly exempt from the wasting of the nerves
through emotion. Her eyes were always bright and clear; her skin
dazzling in its whiteness, save where the equably flowing blood flushed
it with tenderest rose,--her figure remained svelte, lithe and
graceful in all its outlines. Finely strung, yet strong as steel in her
temperament, all thoughts, feelings and events seemed to sweep over her
without affecting or disturbing her mind’s calm equipoise. She lived her
life with extreme simplicity, regularity, and directness, thus driving
to despair all would-be scandal-mongers; and though many gifted and
famous men fell madly in love with their great princess, and often, in
the extremity of a passion which amounted to disloyalty, slew themselves
for her sake, she remained unmoved and pitiless.
Her husband occasionally felt some compassion for the desperate fellows
who thus immolated themselves on the High Altar of her perfections,
though it must be admitted that he received the news of their deaths
with tolerable equanimity, knowing them to have been fools, and as such,
better out of the world than in it. During the first two or three years
of his marriage he had himself been somewhat of their disposition, and
as mere man, had tried by every means in his power to win the affection
of his beautiful spouse, and to melt the icy barrier which she, despite
their relations with each other, had resolutely kept up between herself
and him. He had made the attempt, not because he actually loved her, but
simply because he desired the satisfaction of conquest. Finding the
task hopeless, he resigned himself to his fate, and accepted her at the
costly valuation she set upon herself; though for pastime he would often
pay court to certain ladies of easy virtue, with the vague idea that
perhaps the spirit of jealousy might enter that cold shrine of womanhood
where no other demon could force admission, and wake up the passions
slumbering within. But she appeared not to be at all aware of his
many and open gallantries; and only at stray moments, when her frosty
flashing glance fell upon him engaged in some casual flirtation, would a
sudden smarting sense of injury make him conscious of her contempt.
But he could reasonably find no fault with her, save the fault of being
faultless. She was a perfect hostess, and fulfilled all the duties of
her exalted position with admirable tact and foresight,--she was ever
busy in the performance of good and charitable deeds,--she was an
excellent mother, and took the utmost personal care that her sons should
be healthily nurtured and well brought up,--she never interfered in any
matter of state or ceremony,--she simply seemed to move as a star moves,
shining over the earth but having no part in it. Irresponsive as she
was, she nevertheless compelled admiration,--her husband himself admired
her, but only as he would have admired a statue or a painting. For his
was an impulsive and generous nature, and his marriage had kept his
heart empty of the warmth of love, and his home devoid of the light of
sympathy. Even his children had been born more as the sons of the nation
than his own,--he was not conscious of any very great affection for
them, or interest in their lives. And he had sought to kindle at many
strange fires the heavenly love-beacon which should have flamed its
living glory into his days; so it had naturally chanced that he had
spent by far the larger portion of his time on the persuasion of mere
Whim,--and as vastly inferior women to his wife had made him spend it.
But at this particular juncture, when the curtain is drawn up on certain
scenes and incidents in his life-drama, a change had been effected in
his opinions and surroundings. For eighteen years after his marriage, he
had lived on the first step of the Throne as its next heir; and when
he passed that step and ascended the Throne itself, he seemed to have
crossed a vast abyss of distance between the Old and the New. Behind him
the Past rolled away like a cloud vanishing, to be seen no more,--before
him arose the dim vista of wavering and uncertain shadows, which no
matter how they shifted and changed,--no matter how many flashes of
sunshine flickered through them,--were bound to close in the thick gloom
of the inevitable end,--Death. This is what he was chiefly thinking of,
seated alone in his garden-pavilion facing the sea on that brilliant
southern summer morning,--this,--and with the thought came many others
no less sad and dubious,--such as whether for example, his eldest son
might not already be eager for the crown?--whether even now, though
he had only reigned three years, his people were not more or less
dissatisfied under his rule?
His father, the late King, had died suddenly,--so suddenly that there
was neither help nor hope for him among the hastily summoned physicians.
Stricken numb and speechless, he kept his anguished eyes fixed to the
last upon his son, as one who should say--“Alas, and to thee also, falls
this curse of a Crown!” Once dead, he was soon forgotten,--the pomp
of the Royal obsequies merely made a gala-day for the light-hearted
Southern populace, who hailed the accession of their new King with
as much gladness as a child, who, having broken one doll, straightway
secures another as good, if not better. As Heir-Apparent the succeeding
sovereign had won great popularity, and was much more generally beloved
than his father had been,--so that it was on an extra high wave of
jubilation and acclamation that he and his beautiful consort were borne
to the Throne.
Three years had passed since then; and so far his reign had been
untroubled by much difficulty. Difficulty there was, but he was kept
in ignorance of it,--troubles were brooding, but he was not informed
of them. Things likely to be disagreeable were not conveyed to his
ears,--and matters which, had he been allowed to examine into them,
might have aroused his indignation and interference, were diplomatically
hushed up. He was known to possess much more than the limited
intelligence usually apportioned to kings; and certainly, as his tutor
had said of him in his youth, he was dangerously “disposed towards
discursive philosophies.” He was likewise accredited with a conscience,
which many diplomats consider to be a wholly undesirable ingredient in
the moral composition of a reigning monarch. Therefore, those who move
a king, as in the game of chess, one square at a time and no more,--were
particularly cautious as to the ‘way’ in which they moved him. He had
shown himself difficult to manage once or twice; and interested persons
could not pursue their usual course of self-aggrandisement with him,
as he was not susceptible to flattery. He had a way of asking straight
questions, and what was still worse, expecting straight answers, such as
politicians never give.
Nevertheless he had, up to the present, ruled his conduct very much on
the lines laid down by his predecessors, and during his brief reign
had been more or less content to passively act in all things as
his ministers advised. He had bestowed honours on fools because his
ministers considered it politic,--he had given his formal consent to
the imposition of certain taxes on his people, because his ministers
had judged such taxes necessary,--in fact he had done everything he was
expected to do, and nothing that he was not expected to do. He had not
taken any close personal thought as to whether such and such a political
movement was, or was not, welcome to the spirit of the nation, nor had
he weighed intimately in his own mind the various private interests of
the members of his Government, in passing, or moving the rejection
of, any important measure affecting the well-being of the community at
large. And he had lately,--perhaps through the objectionable ‘discursive
philosophies’ before mentioned,--come to consider himself somewhat of a
stuffed Dummy or figure-head; and to wonder what would be the result,
if with caution and prudence, he were to act more on his own initiative,
and speak as he often thought it would be wise and well to speak? He
was but forty-five years old,--in the prime of life, in the plenitude of
health and mental vigour,--was he to pass the rest of his days guarded
by detectives, flunkeys and physicians, with never an independent
word or action throughout his whole career to mark him Man as well as
Monarch? Nay, surely that would be an insult to the God who made him!
But the question which arose in his mind and perplexed him was, How
to begin? How, after passive obedience, to commence resistance? How to
break through the miserable conventionalism, the sordid commonplace of
a king’s surroundings? For it is only in medieval fairy-tales that kings
are permitted to be kingly.
Yet, despite custom and usage, he was determined to make a new departure
in the annals of modern sovereignty. Three years of continuous slavery
on the treadmill of the Throne had been sufficient to make him thirst
for freedom,--freedom of speech,--freedom of action. He had tacitly
submitted to a certain ministry because he had been assured that the
said ministry was popular,--but latterly, rumours of discontent and
grievance had reached him,--albeit indistinctly and incoherently,--and
he began to be doubtful as to whether it might not be the Press which
supported the existing state of policy, rather than the People. The
Press! He began to consider of what material this great power in his
country was composed. Originally, the Press in all countries, was
intended to be the most magnificent institution of the civilized
world,--the voice of truth, of liberty, of justice--a voice which in its
clamant utterances could neither be bribed nor biassed to cry out false
news. Originally, such was meant to be its mission;--but nowadays, what,
in all honesty and frankness, is the Press? What was it, for example, to
this king, who from personal knowledge, was able to practically estimate
and enumerate the forces which controlled it thus:--Six, or at the most
a dozen men, the proprietors and editors of different newspapers sold in
cheap millions to the people. Most of these newspapers were formed into
‘companies’; and the managers issued ‘shares’ in the fashion of tea
merchants and grocers. False news, if of a duly sensational character,
would sometimes send up the shares in the market,--true information
would equally, on occasion, send them down. These premises granted,
might it not follow that for newspaper speculators, the False would
often prove more lucrative than the True? And, concerning the persons
who wrote for these newspapers,--of what calling and election were they?
Male and female, young and old, they were generally of a semi-educated
class lacking all distinctive ability,--men and women who were, on an
average, desperately poor, and desperately dissatisfied. To earn daily
bread they naturally had to please the editors set in authority over
them; hence their expressed views and opinions on any subject could only
be counted as _nil_, being written, not independently, but under the
absolute control of their employers. Thus meditating, the King summed up
the total of his own mental argument, and found that the vast sounding
‘power of the Press’ so far as his own dominion was concerned, resolved
itself into the mere trade monopoly of the aforesaid leading dozen
men. What he now proposed to himself to discover among other things,
was,--how far and how truly these dozen tradesmen voiced the mind of the
People over whom he was elected to reign? Here was a problem, and one
not easy to solve. But what was very plain and paramount to his mind
was this,--that he was thoroughly sick and tired of being no more than
a ‘social’ figure in the world’s affairs. It was an effeminate part to
play. It was time, he considered, that he should intelligently try his
own strength, and test the nation’s quality.
“If there is corruption in the state,” he said to himself, “I will
find its centre! If I am fooled by my advisers then I will be fooled no
longer. With whatsoever brain and heart and reason and understanding the
Fates have endowed me, I will study the ways, the movements, the desires
of my people, and prove myself their friend, as well as their king.
Suppose they misunderstand me?--What matter!--Let the nation rise
against me an’ it will, so that I may, before I die, prove myself worthy
of the mere gift of manhood! To-day”--and, rising from his chair, he
advanced a step or two and faced the sea and sky with an unconscious
gesture of invocation; “To-day shall be the first day of my real
monarchy! To-day I begin to reign! The past is past,--for eighteen long
years as prince and heir to the throne I trifled away my time among the
follies of the hour, and laughed at the easy purchase I could make of
the assumed ‘honour’ of men and women; and I enjoyed the liberty and
license of my position. Since then, for three years I have been the
prisoner of my Parliament,--but now--now, and for the rest of the time
granted to me on earth, I will live my life in the belief that its
riddle must surely meet with God’s own explanation. To me it has become
evident that the laws of Nature make for Truth and Justice; while the
laws of man are framed on deception and injustice. The two sets of laws
contend one against the other, and the finite, after foolish and vain
struggle, succumbs to the infinite,--better therefore, to begin with
the infinite Order than strive with the finite Chaos! I, a mere earthly
sovereign, rank myself on the side of the Infinite,--and will work for
Truth and Justice with the revolving of Its giant wheel! My people have
seen me crowned,--but my real Coronation is to-day--when I crown myself
with my own resolve!”
His eyes flashed in the sunshine;--a rose shook its pink petals on the
ground at his feet. In one of the many pleasure-boats skimming across
the sea, a man was singing; and the words he sang floated distinctly
along on the landward wind.
“Let me be thine, O love,
But for an hour! I yield my heart and soul
Into thy power,--Let me be thine, O Love of mine,
But for an hour!”
The King listened, and a faint shadow darkened the proud light on his
face.
“‘But for an hour!’” he said half aloud--“Yes,--it would be enough! No
woman’s love lasts longer!”