Without answer, the great man brushed roughly past him and hurried
on. Did he foresee that within a few weeks these alabaster stairs
must run cascades of blood, the gorgeous corridors beyond be choked
with corpses, the gaunt and starving mob ravage these chambers of
state, while shattered dome and reeling tower crashed down through
the burning roof? Did he foresee that the princes and dames and
gentlemen who thronged the rooms were to offer tiaras of diamonds for
horseflesh, to haggle with stars and orders for a cup of water, and
be dragged out of the cellars and murdered in the streets of the
blazing capital?
People shrank away from the look in Brand's eyes as he approached
them, many who began to comment on his dress, stopped in mid speech,
a lane of silent spectators opened to give him passage, a confusion
of rumour followed in his wake, and the news of his coming spread
excitement to every corner of the palace. For no light purpose would
the master of Lyonesse come unprepared in haste at such an hour,
business of moment was afoot, a crisis in public affairs. Was it
open war between John Brand and the Government?
Attended by Lord Sydney, the master entered the throne room, and even
he seemed to be moved by the dazzling splendour of the scene. He saw
a vault of gold sustained on columns of onyx, an atmosphere of
radiant light, dense with perfume, tremulous with music, a confusion
of robes and gems, the slow grave movement of some stately dance,
then a lane of people opening to the very steps of the throne, where
Margaret stood attended by her court.
Her robes were like an iridescent cloud, and wondrous opals starred
her coronet. And like the changing colour of the gems, her face was
different as he looked, a shade of annoyance melted to a smile, yet
in the very gentleness of her greeting, the man was doubtful of a
mischievous gleam in her eyes.
Brand heard Lord Sydney making the presentation, felt that the people
about him seemed embarrassed, wondered what fantastic etiquette he
ought to follow, looked our Lady straight in the face, took her
extended hand with reverence in both his own.
"Forgive me," he said. "Please tell me what to do."
He could not hear his own words, his heart so thundered, and every
artery in his body thrilled. Margaret was shaking hands with him
frankly, cordially.
"Yes, shake hands," she cried, tremulous with laughter. "Let the
Queen shake hands with the King of Lyonesse!"
"I am ashamed," he said, humbly. "I ought to have dressed--to
have----"
"Come in disguise? Why that would be absurd for Lyonesse. We will
ask you only to wear the Rose of England," she took from her shoulder
a blood-red rose, and fastened it with a jewelled brooch upon his
breast. "My Lords," she cried to her attendants, "witness that we
create the Order of the Rose for Englishmen who have served their
country well. Brand of Lyonesse, first Knight of the Order of the
Rose, this is our thanks for great and ungrudging service. Come,
honour us with your escort, Mr. Brand."
She led him to a balcony overlooking the gardens--faint came the
sound of distant music there. She thought of the things to be said,
the things to be done, wondered how she could deal with this rough
monster, hated the Chancellor for setting such a task, gave up the
whole business in despair, and set herself to find out why Brand
hated women.
"Here we can rest," she said; "you shall sit there and let me stand
where I can see all my beech trees. Sometimes I stay here all
through a summer night with Orion and the Pleiads to keep me company."
He could see her face dark against the full moon, wonderfully still.
Her breast rose and fell as she breathed, her every movement swayed
the changing glory of her moonlight robes. She seemed not earthly,
but kin of great Orion and the Pleiads.
"What is your garden like in Lyonesse?"
"My garden?" he answered, trying to control his voice.
"I know," said Margaret, "what it must be like, a garden of rocks and
the white surf for flowers. Your gardener is the wind--I should like
your garden."
"From my cottage," he answered, "the wall goes down three hundred
feet sheer to the breakers."
"Oh, I can see it! A wonderful cliff with big outstanding stacks and
bastions, where the sea-eagles breed. How beautiful! But can you
live there in winter?"
"Yes. I had a fright though once when a sea wrecked my study."
"At three hundred feet?"
"Seas have been known to break higher than that. My sister and I
spend many an hour watching the big sou'-westers. Then the spray
lashes miles inland over the city."
"And what is your sister like?"
"I believe she is plain," he looked at the Queen; "yes, she must be
very plain, but somehow I never thought of that till now. I'll ask
her."
"Please don't," said Margaret, hastily, "she might be angry."
"I'd rather not then," his grey eyes twinkled. "Sarah has so many
things to vex her."
"And you always live in that eyrie?"
"Oh no, we go away sometimes in the _Mary Rose_, our yacht."
"For holidays?"
"We went to the Himalayas last, and perched for the sunset view on
Everest."
"I didn't think that even an aerial yacht could live up there."
"I could show the Queen some wonderful places if she would venture a
trip in an etheric yacht."
"How I should like to see the world like that!" The Queen sighed.
"I'm tied up, you know, and everything I do is most improper."
This, then, was the monster, the dragon of the Chancellor's fears,
this simple-minded, plain-living merchant, whose pleasure was in the
greater, wilder moods of Nature, who spoke so gently of a virago
sister.
"Please tell me about the factories," she said.
"Must I talk of sympathetic vibratory physics?"
"Heaven forbid! Why that's worse than even the Budget!"
"And in practice a simpler, easier trade than cooking."
"Even the changing of water into gold?"
"A matter of rule of thumb, like making bread. But I must not bore
the Queen by talking shop."
Our Lady's eyes intently studied Brand. "Do you know," she said
gravely, "that my advisers call you a public enemy."
The man looked up at her smiling. "They lie," he said frankly.
He dared to call her Chancellor a liar! "You will explain," she said.
"Oh, but I didn't want to offend you!"
Margaret smiled despite herself. "You said you would make gold
cheap."
"I am so much a public enemy," he answered, laughing, and spoke with
easy confidence of a new merchandise in wares of gold, of plates and
cups, of lamps and ornaments, for the common use and comfort of the
poor, such as had been beyond the means of kings. He spoke of dreary
brick houses, and dismal streets annealed with rough gold, of silver
columns and gemmed entablatures, of public monuments in golden
bronze, of cities which will not rust, or tarnish, or get dirty,
which frost cannot splinter or rain dissolve, their splendour
imperishable and their celestial beauty. Margaret thought he had
taken leave of his senses. For which of us in those days dreamed of
the golden age or ever supposed that this should all come true?
Our Lady's voice had a resentful note as she reverted to the issues
of the time, as in the Chancellor's terms, she voiced his horror at
the fall of gold.
"A standard of gold set in the tides of trade? A beautiful image,"
said Brand, thoughtfully. "But, dear me, how it condemns poor
Ulster! The tide is an age-long ebb of falling prices. So is the
standard changed to a cross, and the debtor hangs there."
"I don't understand," cried Margaret, affrighted.
"Neither did the Jews. The cross was of timber once. Do you
remember? and He who suffered, expressly said, 'they know not what
they do.' The Jews were priests then, now they are bankers, brokers
of money, usurers, capitalists of Ulster's party. And the cross is
changed to gold where mankind hangs crucified. 'They know not what
they do.'"
"Oh, this is blasphemy!"
"May I not even speak of the cross--I, the bearer of that cross?"
Our Lady looked at his clear eyes, and was ashamed. Then trying to
defend her cause--
"My Chancellor came to me," she cried.
"It is not then the crucified who cried to the Queen for help? Oh,
may I plead for them?"
So gravely, sorrowfully he spoke for the men who labour on the land,
who face the dangers of the air, who sweat in the deep pits, who
drive the machines in the factories--for all the great labouring
nation.
"Oh, Mr. Brand, I can't listen to this! The nation sends the men who
advise me."
"The Jewish nation? Yet even Ulster, their high priest, has
generously permitted my coming."
"Not to convert me to your strange views, Mr. Brand."
"But to be condemned unheard? Oh, surely not!"
"Go on," said the Queen, indignantly.
"I spoke of the standard, or cross of gold," he said. "I, the idol
maker, dared to speak blasphemously of the false god I have to
uphold."
Margaret saw the twinkle in his eye, and could hardly restrain
herself from smiling.
"I'm going to be still more wicked," he went on. "I'm going to tear
the idol down and break it all to pieces. Ulster would agree with me
that our wealth is the stored-up labour of the bread-winners, that
all our capital arises from their patient, endless work. By that
measure we are so much better than our savage ancestors, whose way of
earning was to snatch and run."
The Queen nodded assent.
"These counters then, which we call money, are something more sacred
than stamped gold or silver. They are hours of human life beaten out
on the anvils of destiny. My tokens of labour were first used at
Lyonesse, and it has become the most prosperous town in the world.
The United States adopted the labour money, and it is the most
prosperous of all nations. My currency stops half the cheating in
finance, and Ulster's capitalists are in a state of fear. I speak
for the whole labour party throughout the Empire, and for my own dear
country, for after three generations we Brands are still Republicans
of the United States. Yes, Ulster has argued wisely of the tides of
trade--he dreads the tidal wave. I have set it in motion, and if
this Chancellor attempts the least resistance, it will sweep away his
Government."
Then Margaret turned on Brand in furious anger. "You threaten this
tidal wave," she cried. "You dare to avow this sudden, cowardly,
unprovoked attack upon my Government."
"So far is it sudden," said Brand, with grave respect, "that my
foreman, bribed by Ulster with a title, has bolted, to set up
American factories, and undersell my gold."
"Is this true?"
"It was in my letter which Ulster has shown to the Queen."
Margaret was silent.
"My attack," said Brand, "is cowardly."
"You admit that!"
"Yes, I admit the fear that the Government will commit suicide. In
this emergency I strengthen the public credit with certain lands as a
gift forever to the British nation. That also is in my letter which
the Queen has read. There is no danger to the Empire."
Margaret sank into a chair, and remained silent.
"My attack," continued the master, "is unprovoked. Far be it from me
to even seem provoked when the Chancellor offers the Queen in
marriage to a Russian dipsomaniac lately released from an asylum.
The Chancellor no doubt is the Queen's servant expressing her
Majesty's will."
Our Lady's fan broke in her hands, but she remained silent.
"The public enemy," said Brand, "has so far avowed his sudden,
cowardly, unprovoked attack upon Ulster's party. I have but reminded
the Queen as to terms of my letter which had escaped her memory."
"Don't torture me," cried Margaret. "I have not read the letter!"
"I dare not accuse the Chancellor," said Brand, "of leaving his
sovereign to face such issues unarmed and unprepared. He is an
English gentleman incapable of conduct such as that."
"Stop, I command you!"
"No," said Brand, rising to his feet. "If the Chancellor has not
warned the Queen, I shall! Bear with me, Queen Margaret! I have to
deal with rough and brutal facts, to say things that hurt. Forgive
me; be patient with me."
Margaret sat in rigid silence, at bay, waiting.
"The Queen has called me here," said Brand, "and I must speak. I
have come to plead for the people, no matter what the cost. Russia,
France and Germany are mobilizing. In feverish haste the League is
arming for the invasion of England. Your people are never prepared
for war; the Imperial fleets and armies are utterly unready--I dare
not say how weak. Ulster, absorbed in appeals to Russia, offering
terms for peace so shameful that they had to be denied in the House
of Commons. There is no hope in war, no hope of peace. Nothing can
save this country but the wreck of the Leagued Nations by the fall of
gold."
The Queen sat motionless, staring.
"There need be no fear," he said. "Ulster's people dare not resist,
lest they be swept away with the Leagued Nations."
Then Margaret leaned forward in her seat, wide, staring eyes intent
upon his face, a slow hand reaching out along the balustrade, and
groping fingers found an electric bell.
"Are we deposed?" Her voice was low and tremulous with passion.
"Will you usurp our crown when you have swept away our Government?"
But the man who was to be tamed heard nothing, because of his pity
for this helpless woman cursed with the heavy burden of the Imperial
crown--betrayed, abandoned, yet still of unbroken and unflinching
courage.
He took from its clasp the rose which the Queen had given, the
blood-red Order of the Rose for Englishmen who have served their
country well.
"It is bruised," he said, humbly, "by my clumsiness."
"It still has thorns!" cried Margaret. "You have slandered our
Ministers, and to-morrow you shall meet them face to face, to repeat
this treason word for word at your own peril before the House of
Commons. You have insulted your sovereign!" Her hand struck the
bell thrice. "Gentlemen of the Guard!"
Presently two orderlies of the Guard drew up in her presence,
saluting.
"Gentlemen," said her Majesty, "we have been insulted. Expel this
man from the Palace!"
Margaret sat alone in her balcony trying to hate Mr. Brand. She had
never been so angry in her life.
All men did her worship, hundreds of millions rendered to her their
homage, whole continents obeyed her, and in her name the masters of
the world commanded. Her Imperial Majesty had never been disobeyed,
and here was a man who dared----
What had he dared?
He dared to pity her because she had lost her temper.
She tore her fan all to pieces and scattered the wreck on the floor.
This monster had come to be subdued, to be tamed, to be turned from
his purpose. He had not been much subdued, or to any great extent
tamed, or in the least degree turned from his purpose. He was not
even ruffled! The surf of her fury had beat against his cliffs, and
then he said he was sorry to see her bruised.
There was the stab of defeat. Thrust a sword into a pool, and where
it touches the water it seems to bend. Such is the sweet obliquity
of a woman's mind that, in its clearness, her defeat may seem better
than triumph. He was rather a nice monster, this Brand; friendly in
a quaint way, very frank in his admiration, and, whether she liked it
or not, determined to save her from the Russian marriage. She was
very angry still--with the Chancellor!
When at last she gave the Chancellor audience, her face was hard, her
manner cheerful, her bearing defiant.
"Ulster," she said, "I've failed."
The statesman was not such a fool as to ask for reasons. Well he
knew the danger signals, the anger growing in her eyes, as she spoke
with the directness of a man.
"Mr. Brand," she continued, "wrote you a letter, part of which you
told me, the other part kept back. Give me the letter!"
"Oh, madam, not that, I implore you."
"I insist."
"Dear Lady, forgive an old, tried servant of the State, who would
give his life to guard you from such things!"
"Give me that letter!"
There were tears in old Ulster's eyes as, with a shrinking
reluctance, he protested--even while he obeyed--speaking of things
unfit for the Queen to see, and devilish evil planned against her
throne.
But Margaret, in burning eagerness, wrenched the paper from his hand,
and bending forward to the light which streamed from the windows,
spread out the sheet upon her knees and read.
There is no need to quote this forged letter, which made the Queen
believe that Brand of Lyonesse, under pretext of the gold crisis, was
plotting to seize the actual reins of power.
Subtly was the mind of our Lady poisoned until the Chancellor seemed
to defend the realm from foul and deadly treason, against the nation,
and against the Queen.
"Ah, madam," he said, "I am an old man, my eyes are dim with the
passage of many years in the royal service. I cannot claim the
inspired foresight which commanded that this traitor expose his own
infamy at the very bar of the House of Commons. Your Majesty has
been pleased to hale this man before the bar of the nation's
judgment. When he speaks in public, when he threatens the nation,
when he declares war against civilization--then, and then only, will
public opinion support the Government, and we shall deal swift
vengeance. But there will be a panic, this threat of the fall of
gold will disturb the peace of the nations, and, madam, the nations
will hold Ministers responsible."
"But you're not."
"What, madam, do France, Russia and Germany care for that? Remember
the League has but one purport, one policy--the destruction of the
British Empire. Here is the chance for which they have been waiting
for many years. They are mobilized, they are ready, and their
strength is overwhelming."
"Yes," cried the Queen; "but our Treaty with Russia."
"If it were only signed. We have offered Russia her own terms, yet
she hangs back."
"But why?"
"Because the old Emperor dreams of a dearer and more personal bond."
The Queen turned pale.
"The Russian constitutional monarchy allied by blood to the ancient
and royal line of England. Ah, madam, the dream is worthy of that
great prince. For, once unite these two Empires with ties of blood,
and henceforth that alliance ensures the power which alone brings
peace."
"And the newspapers will gush," said Margaret, bitterly. "And the
people will shout. Oh, this is worthy of you!"
The Queen rose from her seat trembling, her face white with fear, her
hands clenched, her teeth set. But what was in her heart could not
be spoken. From her childhood the lesson had been drilled into her
brain that princes may not have hearts, that they may not love, or
mate, save for public ends. But used as she was to the curse of the
blood royal, she shrank back affrighted when national policy doomed
her to marry the Grand Duke Alexander.
"Ulster," she cried, "Margaret of England says that an English
gentleman might be found, who is neither a prince nor a cousin, nor a
coward, nor even a drunkard, and the nation be all the stronger."
"Madam, remember the blood royal of that great race which has for
twenty centuries reigned in this island. Your ancestors never failed
the nation, though many died for England, and all have suffered for
her. Is Margaret less royal, less brave, than they? If the Queen
fails us now, this coming world-storm of financial panic will bring
the great invasion on our coasts. We need in our sovereign, courage
sprung from a race of kings."
The Queen was in torment, and now in the background of her mind, a
sunburnt, manly gentleman was speaking of his cottage on the cliffs,
of his sister Sarah, who was plain, of the surf which beat upon the
rocks, and the spray which drove for miles, and the spindrift high in
air above the storm-lashed granite of Lyonesse.
"There will be war," said Ulster. "Thousands must die upon the field
of battle. Women must cry, and orphan children must starve."
"Let there be war," cried Margaret. "War is better than shame."
"Your Majesty, if war can save us from shame--let there be war. But
when we are overwhelmed, when all our people are given over to their
enemies, then there is shame. When our bread-winners, ruined by the
invasion, must starve to pay indemnity to Europe--then there is
shame. And shall the last of our great sovereigns leave us to shame
like that?"
Margaret, standing between the glow of the lamps and the soft pallor
of the night, robed in a texture of changing glory like the wings of
angels, looked up to the smiling face of the dead moon. Must she,
like that poor servant of the world, the life fire quenched and hope
utterly perished, move on an orbit of unending patience, and by a
borrowed light from Heaven shine for cold duty's sake before mankind?
So many a woman with a broken heart has made of her living death a
light for men.