LIFE'S COMPENSATIONS.
Much had happened, though but a few hours had passed since Savrola left
his house to hurry to the Mayoralty. The deep and intricate
conspiracy, which had been growing silently and in secret for so many
months, had burst on the world's stage and electrified the nations.
All Europe had learned with amazement of the sudden and terrible
convulsion that in a few hours had overthrown the Government which had
existed for five years in Laurania. In the fighting that had raged
throughout the ninth of September upwards of fourteen hundred persons
had been killed and wounded. The damage done to property had been
enormous. The Senate-House was in flames; the palace had been
destroyed; both, together with many shops and private houses, had been
looted by the mob and the mutineers. Fires were still smouldering in
several parts of the city; in many homes there were empty places and
weeping women; in the streets the ambulances and municipal carts were
collecting the corpses. It had been a momentous day in the annals of
the State.
And all through the terrible hours Lucile had waited, listening to the
sound of the musketry, which, sometimes distant and fitful, sometimes
near and sustained, suggested the voice of a wrathful giant, now sunk
in sulky grumblings, now raised in loud invective. She had listened in
sorrow and suspense, till it was lost in the appalling din of the
cannonade. At intervals, between the bathos of the material
consolations of the old nurse,--soup, custards, and the like--she had
prayed. Until four o'clock, when she had received a message from
Savrola acquainting her with the tragedy at the palace, she had not
dared to add a name to her appeals; but thenceforward she implored a
merciful Providence to save the life of the man she loved. Molara she
did not mourn: terrible and cruel as was his death, she could not feel
she had suffered loss; but the idea that he had been killed on her
account filled her heart with a dreadful fear of guilt. If that were
so, she said to herself, one barrier was removed only to be replaced by
another. But the psychologist might cynically aver that force and
death were the only obstacles that would restrain her affection for
Savrola, for above all she prayed for his return, that she might not be
left alone in the world.
Her love seemed all that was left to her now, but with it life was more
real and strongly coloured than in the cold days at the palace amid
splendour, power, and admiration. She had found what she had lacked,
and so had he. With her it was as if the rising sunbeam had struck the
rainbow from the crystal prism, or flushed the snow peak with rose,
orange, and violet. With Savrola, in the fierce glow of love the
steady blue-white fires of ambition had become invisible. The human
soul is subjected to many refining agents in the world's crucible. He
was sensible of a change of mood and thought; no longer would he wave
his hat at Fate; to his courage he had now added caution. From the
moment when he had seen that poor, hideous figure lying on the steps of
the palace, he had felt the influence of other forces in his life.
Other interests, other hopes, other aspirations had entered his mind.
He searched for different ideals and a new standard of happiness.
Very worn and very weary he made his way to his rooms. The strain of
the preceding twenty-four hours had been tremendous, and the anxieties
which he felt for the future were keen. The step he had taken in
overruling the Council and sending the prisoners into foreign territory
was one the results of which he could not quite estimate. It was, he
was convinced, the only course; and for the consequences he did not
greatly care, so far as he himself was concerned. He thought of
Moret,--poor, brave, impetuous Moret, who would have set the world
right in a day. The loss of such a friend had been a severe one to
him, privately and politically. Death had removed the only
disinterested man, the only one on whom he could lean in the hour of
need. A sense of weariness, of disgust with struggling, of desire for
peace filled his soul. The object for which he had toiled so long was
now nearly attained and it seemed of little worth, of little
comparative worth, that is to say, beside Lucile.
As a Revolutionist he had long made such arrangements with his property
as to make sure of a competence in another land, if he had to fly
Laurania; and a strong wish to leave that scene of strife and carnage
and to live with the beautiful woman who loved him took possession of
his mind. It was, however, his first duty to establish a government in
the place of that he had overthrown. Yet when he reflected on the
cross-grained delegates, the mean pandering crowd of office-seekers,
the weak, distrustful, timid colleagues, he hardly felt that he cared
to try; so great was the change that a few hours had worked in this
determined and aspiring man.
Lucile rose to meet him as he entered. Fate had indeed driven them
together, for she had no other hope in life, nor was there anyone to
whom she could turn for help. Yet she looked at him with terror.
His quick mind guessed her doubt. "I tried to save him," he said; "but
I was too late, though I was wounded in taking a short cut there."
She saw his bandaged arm, and looked at him with love. "Do you despise
me very much?" she asked.
"No," he replied; "I would not marry a goddess."
"Nor I," she said, "a philosopher."
Then they kissed each other, and thenceforward their relationship was
simple.
But in spite of the labours of the day Savrola had no time for rest.
There was much to do, and, like all men who have to work at a terrible
pressure for a short period, he fell back on the resources of medicine.
He went to a little cabinet in the corner of the room and poured
himself out a potent drug, something that would dispense with sleep and
give him fresh energy and endurance. Then he sat down and began to
write orders and instructions and to sign the pile of papers he had
brought with him from the Mayoralty. Lucile, seeing him thus employed,
betook herself to her room.
It was about one o'clock in the morning when there came a ringing at
the bell. Savrola, mindful of the old nurse, ran down and opened the
door himself. Tiro, in plain clothes, entered. "I have come to warn
you," he said.
"Of what?"
"Someone has informed the Council that you have released the prisoners.
They have summoned an urgency meeting. Do you think you can hold them?"
"The devil!" said Savrola pensively. Then after a pause he added, "I
will go and join them."
"There are stages laid by road to the frontier," said the Subaltern.
"The President made me arrange them in case he should wish to send Her
Excellency away. If you decide to give up the game you can escape by
these; they will hold them to my warrant."
"No," said Savrola. "It is good of you to think of it; but I have
saved this people from tyranny and must now try to save them from
themselves."
"You have saved the lives of my brother-officers," said the boy; "you
can count on me."
Savrola looked at him and an idea struck him. "These relays were
ordered to convey Her Excellency to neutral territory; they had better
be so used. Will you conduct her?"
"Is she in this house?" inquired the Subaltern.
"Yes," said Savrola bluntly.
Tiro laughed; he was not in the least scandalised. "I am beginning to
learn more politics every day," he said.
"You wrong me," said Savrola; "but will you do as I ask?"
"Certainly, when shall I start?"
"When can you?"
"I will bring the travelling-coach round in half-an-hour."
"Do," said Savrola. "I am grateful to you. We have been through
several experiences together."
They shook hands warmly, and the Subaltern departed to get the carriage.
Savrola went up-stairs and, knocking at Lucile's door, informed her of
the plan. She implored him to come with her.
"Indeed I wish I could," he said; "I am sick of this; but I owe it to
them to see it out. Power has little more attraction for me. I will
come as soon as things are settled, and we can then be married and live
happily ever afterwards."
But neither his cynical chaff nor arguments prevailed. She threw her
arms round his neck and begged him not to desert her. It was a sore
trial. At last with an aching heart he tore himself away, put on his
hat and coat, and started for the Mayoralty.
The distance was about three quarters of a mile. He had accomplished
about half of this when he met a patrol of the rebel forces under an
officer. They called on him to halt. He pulled his hat down over his
eyes, not wishing for the moment to be recognised. The officer stepped
forward. It was the wounded man to whom Savrola had entrusted the
escorting of the prisoners after the surrender of the palace.
"How far are we away from the Plaza San Marco?" he asked in a loud
voice.
"It is there," said Savrola pointing. "Twenty-third Street is the
number."
The rebel knew him at once. "March on," he said to his men, and the
patrol moved off. "Sir," he added to Savrola, in the low, quick voice
of a man in moments of resolve, "I have a warrant from the Council for
your arrest. They will deliver you to the Admiral. Fly, while there
is time. I will take my men by a roundabout way, which will give you
twenty minutes. Fly; it may cost me dear, but we are comrades; you
said so." He touched Savrola's wounded arm. Then louder to the
patrol: "Turn down that street to the right: we had better get out of
the main thoroughfare; he may sneak off by some lane or other." Then
again to Savrola: "There are others coming, do not delay;" and with
that he hurried after his men. Savrola paused for a moment. To go on
was imprisonment, perhaps death; to return, meant safety and Lucile.
Had it been the preceding day, he would have seen the matter out; but
his nerves had been strained for many hours,--and nothing stood between
them now. He turned and hurried back to his house.
The travelling-coach stood at the door. The Subaltern had helped
Lucile, weeping, into it. Savrola called to him. "I have decided to
go," he said.
"Capital!" replied Tiro. "Leave these pigs to cut each other's
throats; they will come to their senses presently."
So they started, and as they toiled up the long ascent of the hills
behind the city, it became daylight.
"Miguel denounced you," said the Subaltern; "I heard it at the
Mayoralty. I told you he would let you in. You must try and get quits
with him some day."
"I never waste revenge on such creatures," replied Savrola; "they are
their own damnation."
At the top of the hill the carriage stopped, to let the panting horses
get their wind. Savrola opened the door and stepped out. Four miles
off, and it seemed far below him, lay the city he had left. Great
columns of smoke rose from the conflagrations and hung, a huge black
cloud in the still clear air of the dawn. Beneath the long rows of
white houses could be seen the ruins of the Senate, the gardens, and
the waters of the harbour. The warships lay in the basin, their guns
trained upon the town. The picture was a terrible one; to this pass
had the once beautiful city been reduced.
A puff of white smoke sprang from a distant ironclad, and after a while
the dull boom of a heavy gun was heard. Savrola took out his watch; it
was six o'clock; the Admiral had kept his appointment with scrupulous
punctuality. The forts, many of whose guns had been moved during the
night to the landward side, began to reply to the fire of the ships,
and the cannonade became general. The smoke of other burning houses
rose slowly to join the black, overhanging cloud against which the
bursting shells showed white with yellow flashes.
"And that," said Savrola after prolonged contemplation, "is my life's
work."
A gentle hand touched his arm. He turned and saw Lucile standing by
him. He looked at her in all her beauty, and felt that after all he
had not lived in vain.
Those who care to further follow the annals of the Republic of Laurania
may read how, after the tumults had subsided, the hearts of the people
turned again to the illustrious exile who had won them freedom, and
whom they had deserted in the hour of victory. They may, scoffing at
the fickleness of men, read of the return of Savrola and his beautiful
consort, to the ancient city he had loved so well. They may learn how
Lieutenant Tiro was decorated for his valour in the war with the little
bronze Lauranian Cross which is respected all over the world; of how he
led the Lancers' polo team to England according to his desire, and
defeated the Amalgamated Millionaires in the final match for the Open
Cup; of how he served the Republic faithfully with honour and success
and rose at last to the command of the army. Of the old nurse, indeed,
they will read no more, for history does not concern itself with such.
But they may observe that Godoy and Renos both filled offices in the
State suited to their talents, and that Savrola bore no malice to
Miguel, who continued to enjoy good-fortune as a compensation for his
mean and odious character.
But the chronicler, finding few great events, other than the opening of
colleges, railways, and canals, to recount, will remember the splendid
sentence of Gibbon, that history is "little more than the register of
the crimes, follies, and misfortunes of mankind"; and he will rejoice
that, after many troubles, peace and prosperity came back to the
Republic of Laurania.