ROYAL LOVERS
Silver-white glamour of the moon, and velvet darkness of deep branching
foliage held the quiet breadth of The Islands between them. Low on the
shore the fantastic shapes of one or two tall cliffs were outlined black
on the fine sparkling sand,--tiny waves rose from the bosom of the calm
sea, and cuddling together in baby ripples made bubbles of their crests,
and broke here and there among the pebbles with low gurgles of laughter,
and in the warm silence of the southern night the nightingales began to
tune up their delicate fluty voices with delicious tremors and pauses in
the trying of their song. The under-scent of hidden violets among moss
flowed potently upon the quiet air, mingled with strong pine-odours and
the salt breath of the gently heaving sea,--and all the land seemed as
lonely and as fair as the fabled Eden might have been, when the first
two human mated creatures knew it as their own. To every soul that loves
for the first time, the vision of that Lost Paradise is granted; to
every man and woman who know and feel the truth of the divine passion is
vouchsafed a flashing gleam of glory from that Heaven which gives them
to each other. For the voluptuary--for the animal man,--who like his
four-footed kindred is only conscious of instinctive desire, this pure
expansion of the heart and ennobling of the thought is as a sealed
book,--a never-to-be-divulged mystery of joy, which, because he cannot
experience it, he is unable to believe in. It is a glory-cloud in
which the privileged ones are ‘caught up and received out of sight.’ It
transfuses the roughest elements into immortal influences,--it colours
the earth with fairer hues, and fills the days with beauty; every hour
is a gem of sweet thought set in the dreaming soul, and the lover, at
certain times of rapt ecstasy, would smile incredulously were he told
that anyone living could be unhappy. For love goes back to the beginning
of things,--to the time when the world was new. It has its birth in that
primeval light when ‘the morning stars sang together, and all the
sons of God shouted for joy.’ If it is real, deep, passionate and
disinterested love, it sees no difficulties and knows no disillusions.
It is a sufficient assurance of God to make life beautiful. But in these
days of the eld-time of nations, when all things are being mixed and
prepared for casting into a new mould of world-formation, where we and
our civilizations are not, and shall not be,--any more than the Egyptian
Rameses is part of us now,--love in its pristine purity, faith and
simplicity, is rare. Very little romance is left to hallow it; and it is
doubtful whether the white moon, swinging like a silver lamp in heaven
above the peaceful Islands, shed her glory anywhere on any such
lovers in the world, as the two who on this fair night of the southern
springtime, with arms entwined round each other, moved slowly up and
down on the velvet greensward outside Ronsard’s cottage,--Gloria and her
‘sailor’ husband.
Gloria was happy,--and her happiness made her doubly beautiful. Clad in
her usual attire of white homespun, with her rich hair falling unbound
over her shoulders in girl-fashion, and just kept back by a band of
white coral, she looked like a young goddess of the sea; her lustrous,
starlike eyes gazed up into the tender responsive ones of the handsome
stripling she had so trustfully wedded, and not a shadow of doubt
or fear darkened the heaven of her confidence. She did not know how
beautiful she was,--she did not realise that her body was like one of
the unfettered, graceful and perfectly-proportioned figures of women
left to our wondering reverence by the Greek sculptors,--she had never
thought about herself at all, not even to compare her fair brilliancy
of skin with the bronzed, weather-beaten faces of the fisher-folk among
whom she dwelt. Resting her delicate classic head against the encircling
arm of her lover and lord, her beauty seemed almost unearthly in its
pure transparency of feature, outlined by the silver glimmer of the
moonbeams; and the young man by her side, with his handsome dark head,
tall figure and distinguished bearing, looked the fitting mate for her
fair, blossoming womanhood. No two lovers were ever more ideally matched
in physical perfection; and as they moved slowly to and fro on the soft
dark grass, brushing the dewy scent from hanging rose-boughs that pushed
out inviting tufts of white and pink bloom here and there from the
surrounding foliage, they would have served many a poet for some sweet
idyll, or romance in rhyme, which should hold in its stanzas the magic
of immortality. Yet there was a shade of uneasiness in the minds of
both,--Prince Humphry was more silent than usual, and seemed absorbed
in thought; and Gloria, looking timidly up from time to time at the dark
poetic face of her ‘sailor’ lover, felt with a woman’s quick instinct
that something was troubling him, and remorsefully concluded that she
was to blame,--that he had heard of her having been seen by the King,
and that he was evidently vexed by it. He had arrived that evening
suddenly and unexpectedly; for she and her ‘little father,’ as she
called Réné Ronsard, had just begun their frugal supper, when the Crown
Prince’s yacht swept into the bay and dropped anchor. Half an hour later
he, the much-beloved ‘junior officer’ in the Crown Prince’s service had
appeared at the cottage door, greatly to their delight, for they did not
expect to see him so soon. They had supped together, and then Ronsard
himself had gone to superintend a meeting at a small social club he had
started for the amusement of the fisher-folk, wisely leaving the young
wedded lovers to themselves. And they had for a long time been very
quiet, save for such little words of love as came into tune with the
interchange of caresses,--and after a pause of anxious inward thought,
Gloria ventured on a timid query.
“Dearest,--are you _very_ angry with me?”
He started,--and stopping in his walk, turned the fair face up between
his two hands, as one might lift a rose on its stem, and kissed it
tenderly.
“Angry? How can I ever be angry with you, Sweet? Besides what cause have
I for anger?”
“I thought, perhaps--” murmured Gloria, “that if the Professor told you
what I did yesterday,--when the King came--”
“He did tell me;” and the Prince still gazed down on that heavenly
beauty which was the light of the world to him. “He told me that you
sang;--and that your golden voice was a musical magnet which drew his
Majesty to your feet! I am not surprised,--it was only natural! But
I could have wished it had not happened just yet; however, it has
happened, and we must make the best of it!”
“It was my fault,” said the girl penitently;--“I had the fancy to sing;
and I _would_ sing, though the good Professor told me not to do so!”
The Prince was silent. He was bracing his mind to the inevitable. He had
determined that on this very night Gloria should know the truth. For he
was instinctively certain that if he went abroad, as his father wished
him to do, some means would be taken to remove her altogether from the
country before his return; and his idea was to tell her all, and make
her accompany him on his travels. As his wife, she was bound to obey
him, he argued within himself; she should, she must go with him!
Unconsciously Gloria’s next words supplied him with an opening to the
subject.
“Why did you never tell me that the Professor was in the King’s
service?” she asked. “He seemed to know him quite well,--indeed, almost
as a friend!”
“He is the King’s physician,” answered the Prince abruptly; “And,
therefore, he is very greatly in the King’s confidence.”
He walked on, still keeping his arm round her, and seemed not to see the
half-frightened glance she gave him.
“The King’s physician!” she echoed;--“He does not seem a great person at
all,--he is quite a simple old German man!”
Her lover smiled.
“To be physician to the King, my Gloria, is not a very wonderful honour!
It merely implies that the man so chosen is perhaps the ablest fencer
with sickness and death; the greatness is in the simple old German
himself, not in the King’s preference. Von Glauben is a good man.”
“I know it;” said Gloria gently; “He is good,--and very kind. He said
he would always be my friend,--but he was very strange in his manner
yesterday, and almost I was vexed with him. Do you know what he said? He
asked me what I should do if you--my husband, had deceived me? Can you
imagine such a thing?”
Now was the supreme moment. With a violently beating heart the Prince
halted, and putting both arms round her waist, drew her up to him in
such a way that their eyes looked close into each other’s, and their
lips were within kissing touch.
“Yes, my sweetest one! I can imagine such a thing! Such a thing is
possible! Consider it to be true! Consider that I _have_ deceived you!”
She did not move from his clasp, but into her large, lovely trusting
eyes came a look of grief and terror, and her face grew ashy pale.
“In what way?” she whispered faintly; “Tell me! I--I--cannot believe
it!”
“Gloria,--Gloria! My love, my darling! Do not tremble so! Do not fear!
I have not deceived you in any evil way,--what I have done was for
your good and mine; but now--now there is no longer any need of
deception,--you may, and _shall_ know all the truth, my wife, my dearest
in the world! You shall know me as I truly am at last!”
She moved restlessly in his strong clasp,--she was trembling from head
to foot, as if her blood was suddenly chilled.
“As you truly are!” she echoed, with pale lips--“Are you not then what I
have believed you to be?”
And she made an effort to withdraw herself entirely from his embrace.
But he held her fast.
“I am your husband, Gloria!” he said, “and you are my wife! Nothing can
alter that; nothing can change our love or disunite our lives. But I am
not the poor naval officer I have represented myself to be!--though I am
glad I adopted such a disguise, because by its aid I wooed and won your
love! I am not in the service of the Crown Prince,--except in so far
as I serve my own needs! Why, how you tremble!”--and he held her
closer--“Do not be afraid, my darling! Lift up your eyes and look at me
with your own sweet trusting look,--do not turn away from me, because
instead of being the Prince’s servant, I am the Prince himself!”
“The Prince!” And with a cry of utter desolation, Gloria wrenched
herself out of his arms, and stood apart, looking at him in wild alarm
and bewilderment. “The Prince! You--you!--my husband! You,--the King’s
son! And you have married _me_!--oh, how cruel of you!--how cruel!--how
cruel!”
Covering her face with her hands, she broke into a low sobbing,--and the
Prince, cut to the heart by her distress, caught her again in his arms.
“Hush, Gloria!” he said, with an accent of authority, though his own
voice was tremulous; “You must not grieve like this! You will break my
heart! Do you not understand? Do you not see that all my life is bound
up in you?--that I give it to you to do what you will with?--that I care
nothing for rank, state or throne without you?--that I will let all the
world go rather than lose you? Gloria, do not weep so!--do not weep!
Every tear of yours is a pang to me! What does it matter whether I am
prince or commoner? I love you!--we love each other!--we are one in the
sight of Heaven!”
He held her passionately in his arms, kissing the soft clusters of hair
that fell against his breast, and whispering all the tenderest words
of endearment he could think of to console and soothe her anguish. By
degrees she grew calmer, and her sobs gradually ceased. Dashing the
tears from her eyes, she looked up,--her face white as marble.
“You must not tell Ronsard!” she said in faint tones that shook with
fear; “He would kill you!”
The Prince smiled indulgently; his only thought was for her, and so long
as he could dry her tears, Ronsard’s rage or pleasure was nothing to
him.
“He would kill you!” repeated Gloria, with wide open tear-wet eyes;
“He hates all kings, in his heart!--and if he knew that you--_you_--my
husband,--were what you say you are;--if he thought you had married me
under a disguise, only to leave me and never to want me any more----”
“Gloria, Gloria!” cried the Prince, in despair; “Why will you say such
things! Never to want you any more! I want you all my life, and every
moment of that life! Gloria, you must listen to me--you must not turn
from me at the very time I need you most! Are you not brave? Are you not
true? Do you not love me?”
With a pathetic gesture she stretched out her hands to him.
“Oh, yes, I love you!” she said; “I love you with all my heart! But you
have deceived me!--my dearest, you have deceived me! And if you had
only told me the truth, I would never,--for your own sake,--have married
you!”
“I know that!” said the Prince; “And that is why I determined to win you
under the mask of poverty! Now listen, my Princess and my Queen!--for
you are both! I want all your help--all your love--all your trust! Do
not be afraid of Ronsard; he will, he can do nothing to harm me! You are
my wife, Gloria,--you have promised before God to obey me! I claim your
obedience!”
She stood silent, looking at him,--pale and fair as an ivory statue of
Psyche, seen against the dark background of the heavily-branched trees.
Her mind was stunned and confused; she had not yet grasped the full
consciousness of her position,--but as he spoke, the old primitive
lessons of faith, steadfastness of purpose, and unwavering love and
trust in God, which her adopted father had instilled into her from
childhood, rose and asserted their sway over her startled, but unspoilt
soul.
“You need not claim it!” she said, slowly; “It is yours always! I shall
do whatever you tell me, even if you command me to die for your sake!”
With a swift impulsive action, full of grace and spirit, he dropped on
one knee and kissed her hand.
“And so I pledge my faith to my Queen!” he said joyously. “Gloria! my
‘Glory-of-the-Sea’!--you will forgive me for having in this one thing
misled you? Think of me as your sailor lover still!--it is a much harder
thing to be a king’s son than a simple, independent seafarer! Pity me
for my position, and help me to make it endurable! Come now with me down
to that rocky nook on the shore where I first saw you,--and I will tell
you exactly how everything stands,--and how I trust to your love for me
and your courage, to clear away all the difficulties before us. You do
not love me less?”
“I could not love you less!” she replied slowly; “but I cannot think of
you as quite the same!”
A shadow of pain darkened his face.
“Gloria,” he said sadly; “If your love was as great as mine you would
forgive!”
She stood a moment wavering and uncertain; their eyes were riveted
on each other in a strange spiritual attraction--her soft lips were a
little relaxed from their gravity as she steadfastly regarded him. She
was embarrassed, conscious, and very pale; but he drank in gratefully
the wonder and shy worship of those pure eyes,--and waited. Suddenly
she sprang to him and closed her arms about his neck, kissing him with
simple and loving tenderness.
“I do forgive! Oh, I do forgive!” she murmured; “Because I love you, my
darling--because I love you! Whatever you wish I will do for your love’s
sake--believe me!--but I am frightened just now!--it is as if I did not
know you--as if someone had taken you suddenly a long way off! Give me
a little time to recover my courage!--and to know”--here a faint smile
trembled on her beautiful curved mouth--“to know,--and to _feel_,--that
you are still my own!--even though the world may try to part you from
me!--still my very own!”
The warmth of passionate feeling in her face flushed it into a rose-glow
that spread from chin to brow,--and clasping her to his breast, he gave
her the speechless answer that love inscribes on eyes and lips,--then,
keeping his arm tenderly about her, he led her gently into the path
through the pinewood, which wound down to their favourite haunt by the
sea.
The moonlight had now increased in brilliancy, and illumined the
landscape with all the opulence, splendour and superabundance of
radiance common to the south,--the air was soft and balmy, and one great
white cloud floating lazily under the silver orb, moved slowly to the
centre of the heavens,--the violet-blue of night falling around it like
an imperial robe of state. The two youthful figures passed under the
pine-boughs, which closed over them odorously in dark arches of shadow,
and wended their slow way down to the seashore, from whence they could
see the Royal yacht lying at anchor, every tapering line of her fair
proportions distinctly outlined against the sky, and all her
masts shining as if they had been washed with silver dew; and
the Heir-Apparent to a throne was,--for once in the history of
Heir-Apparents,--happy--happy in knowing that he was loved as princes
seldom or never are loved,--not for his power, not for his rank, but
simply for himself alone, by one of the most beautiful women in the
world, who,--if she knew neither the ways of a Court, nor the wiles of
fashion,--had something better than either of these,--the sanctity of
truth and the strength of innocence.
Réné Ronsard, coming back from his pleasurable duties as host and
chairman to his fishermen-friends, found the cottage deserted, and
smiled, as he sat himself down in the porch to smoke, and to wait for
the lover’s return.
“What a thing it is to be young!” he sighed, as he gazed meditatively
at the still beauty of the night around him;--“To be young,--and in
love with the right person! Hours go like moments--the grass is never
damp--the air is never cold--there is never time enough to give all the
kisses that are waiting to be given; and life is so beautiful, that we
are almost able to understand why God created the universe! The rapture
passes very quickly, unfortunately--with some people;--but if I ever
prayed for anything--which I do not--I should pray that it might
remain with Gloria! It surely cannot offend the Supreme Being who is
responsible for our existence, to see one woman happy out of all the
tortured millions of them! One exception to the universal rule would not
make much difference! The law that the strong should prey on the weak,
nearly always prevails,--but it is possible to hope and believe that on
rare occasions the strong may be magnanimous!”
He smoked on placidly, considering various points of philosophic
meditation, and by and by fell into a gentle doze. The doze deepened
into a dream which grew sombre and terrible,--and in it he thought
he saw himself standing bareheaded on a raised platform above surging
millions of people who all shouted with one terrific uproar of
unison--“Regicide! Regicide!” He looked down upon his hands, and saw
them red with blood!--he looked up to the heavens, and they were flushed
with the same ominous hue. Blood!--blood!--the blood of kings,--the dust
of thrones!--and he, the cause! Choked and tormented with a parching
thirst, it seemed in the dream that he tried to speak,--and with all
his force he cried out--“For her sake I did it! For her sake!” But
the clamour of the crowd drowned his voice,--and then it was as if the
coldness of death crept slowly over him,--slowly and cruelly, as though
his whole body were being enclosed within an iceberg,--and he saw
Gloria, the child of his love and care, laid out before him dead,--but
robed and crowned like a queen, and placed on a great golden bier of
state, with purple velvet falling about her, and tall candles blazing
at her head and feet. And voices sang in his ears--“Gloria! Gloria in
excelsis Deo!”--mingling with the muffled chanting of priests at some
distant altar; and he thought he made an attempt to touch the royal
velvet pall that draped her beautiful lifeless body, when he was roughly
thrust back by armed men with swords and bayonets who asked him “What do
you here? Are you not her murderer?”--and he cried out wildly “No, no!
Never could I have harmed the child of my love! Never could I hurt a
hair of her head, or cause her an hour’s sorrow! She is all I had in
the world!--I loved her!--I loved her! Let me see her!--let me
touch her!--let me kiss her once again!” And then the scene suddenly
changed,--and it was found that Gloria was not dead at all, but walking
peacefully alone in a garden of flowers, with lilies crowning her,
and all the sunshine about her; and that the golden bier of state had
changed into a ship at sea which was floating, floating westward bearing
some great message to a far country, and that all was well for him and
his darling. The troubled vision cleared from his brain, and his sleep
grew calmer; he breathed more easily, and flitting glimpses of fair
scenes passed before his dreaming eyes,--scenes in some peaceful and
beautiful world, where never a shadow of sorrow or trouble darkened the
quiet contentment of happy and innocent lives. He smiled in his sleep,
and heaved a deep sigh of pleasure,--and so, gently awoke, to feel a
light touch on his shoulder, and to see Gloria standing before him. A
smile was on her face,--the fragrance of the woodlands and the sea clung
about her garments,--she held a few roses in her hand, and there was
something in her whole appearance that struck him as new, commanding,
and more than ever beautiful.
“You have returned alone?” he said wonderingly.
“Yes. I have returned alone! I have much to tell you, dear! Let us go
in!”