‘Of queenly mien, of loveliest form, and eyes
Like gems set in translucent skies.
And all the beauty of the Court was dimmed
By fair Igerna: to Uther’s eyes she seemed
To stand a peerless pearl; a diamond divine;
Beyond all price, and fitted most to shine
In kingly coronet of the great on earth,
A prizeful jewel of unbounded worth.
... All women she outvies
In every gentle grace. Her voice now thrilled
With soft delight his ravished ears, and filled
His listening soul with music’s harmony,
Sweet as the rippling water’s melody.’
_Idylls, Legends and Lyrics._
The Royal Observatory was a stately building of great height erected
close to the old building in Greenwich Park, which latter was kept as a
show place, and used also as a lecture hall for students of Astronomy.
The lower apartments of the new building were occupied by Mercia and her
household, while the upper rooms were devoted to the purposes of her
profession. A suite of rooms on the left wing were set apart as
workshops for Geometrus, whose spare time was always taken up with
planning or perfecting some wonderful astronomical instrument more
powerful than the world had hitherto seen.
In a spacious apartment on the third floor which contained two powerful
telescopes, constructed on principles of entirely modern invention,
being capable of revealing the distant suns to an extent never before
dreamt of, was Mercia surrounded by curious astroscopes,
stellar-spectroscopes, and wonderfully constructed cameras, which
delineated in an instant the starry heights, the glory of which has been
the ambition of astronomers in all ages to fathom.
She was seated at her desk making some mathematical calculations of the
celestial depths, and was so completely engrossed in her labours that
the entrance of her fellow-worker, Geometrus, went unheeded. At length,
coming to a close, she raised her head, when instantly a flush of
pleasure brought the rose more vividly into her cheeks.
‘Ah, Geometrus, is it thou?’ she exclaimed, ‘I have finished the
measurement of thy namesake, the fixed star, and am happy at last. His
system of planets are now all perfect before me: I must write a treatise
on this new addition to science so that posterity may know what we have
attained.’
‘Why use the word “we,” my mistress,’ replied the young man, ‘it is thou
alone who hast done the work?’
‘It is true that I have made the observations and calculations,
Geometrus, but it was thy cunning which formed the instrument. Take thy
due, my friend, and be not over modest; some base imitator may some day
defraud thee of thine invention, unless thou wilt consent to acknowledge
it openly.’
‘I would that I might acknowledge openly the one deep thought of my
heart,’ he answered with a sigh as he turned to leave the apartment.
‘Stay a little while, Geometrus, I would have some converse with thee. I
am buried so deeply in my work that I know not how the world is wagging.
What about the great dispute that is coming before the World’s Tribunal?
Is it a righteous cause this of the Eastern, thinkest thou?’
‘Nay, mistress, that is not for me to settle: judge for thyself. India
desires to regain her ancient freedom. The Government reins of the
foreigner however lightly held, gall her. She does not deny having
received great benefits from the invader, as great as the Romans
conferred upon the early Britons: nevertheless, she would prefer a
measure of mismanagement under a native ruler, than the most perfect
arrangements from the stranger.’
‘But it is folly in these enlightened times to imagine that India, once
our rule were withdrawn, would revert to the old order of things.
Ignorance and superstition, Eastern despotism and tyranny can never
again find a home in that beautiful country,’ remarked Mercia
thoughtfully.
‘Oh, we are all well aware of that: but it suits our purpose to make
these assertions: we must invent a _raison d’être_ when we take upon
ourselves the government of a country that in no way belongs to us. It
is _pro re natâ_—for a special business—that we aver they can’t get
along without us. We have edged in little by little until we have
brought the whole Empire under our dominion. To give up India now, would
be as tantalising to us, as it would be to the victorious soldier if
asked to give up his loot; for in the good old times pillage was the
perquisite of the warrior. America evidently sympathises with India in
her desire for a monarchy. That country pretty well understands where
the shoe pinches for she has gone through experiences.’
‘I have read in books,’ observed Mercia smiling, ‘how American women
made wealthy by their parents’ success in trade, came hither to mate
with titled men; for there was no nobility in their own country. I
suppose possessing all the world could give save high rank they sought
in the parent country for that which their own lacked.’
‘They lacked not long,’ returned Geometrus laughingly, ‘for over fifty
years they have been in the enjoyment of a monarchy and all its
concomitant honours. The image and superscription of King Jonathan, the
First, that adorns the almighty dollar impresses one painfully with
their pinchbeck royalty.’
‘We shall get used to it in time,’ observed Mercia gently. ‘A young
republic cannot make an old monarchy. After all, there was a spice of
modesty in Jonathan when he elected a king, for he might have made him
an emperor while doing it.’
‘It wasn’t modesty at all—it was selfish prudence; they wanted to follow
the lines of a constitutional monarchy and considered it was the safest
thing to call their Figure Head a king.’
‘If India obtains her desire I wonder whom she will chose for Emperor.
Doubtless the people will want that dear old Prime Minister of theirs;
they could not have a worthier monarch.’
‘But he is old,’ replied Geometrus quickly, ‘and he is childless, what
is to become of the succession when he dies? There will arise tumults
and internal quarrels as to his successor: better choose a younger man,
and one likely to found a lasting royal line. Remember the fate of
Germany. Had there been a goodly half-dozen of sons to fall back upon an
English prince would never have had the chance of their crown.’
‘All’s well that ends well, Geometrus. Now is England invincible to the
whole world: in her position as a united Empire her power is paramount
everywhere.’
No sooner had Mercia made this observation than she heard the sound of
some unusual noise going on outside, and stepping to the window she saw
several gentlemen assembled near the Observatory, among whom she
discerned no other personage than the Emperor Felicitas himself.
‘Here’s a pretty surprise for thee, Mistress Mercia,’ exclaimed
Geometrus excitedly; ‘none other than the Emperor! It is not I he seeks,
but thou, Mistress Mercia, I will then away.’
‘Stay, Geometrus!’ exclaimed Mercia quickly, ‘I would prefer thy company
when I receive the Emperor. I will now retire and change my dress for a
more suitable habit in which to receive so honourable a visitor.’
But before she could leave the room a messenger was at the door desiring
an audience for his royal master.
Mercia silently bowed her assent; and a moment later the monarch entered
her studio. As he did so she rose from her seat at the large table,
which was covered with charts and maps of the celestial regions, all of
her own making, but the Emperor quickly stepping forward observed
gallantly, ‘Stay, lady, keep thy seat, for it is meet that monarchs
should serve thee, who art so full of knowledge and wisdom.’
‘Thou art my master,’ she answered in a grave tone.
‘Thy Sovereign, yet thy servant,’ he replied with a deep bow.
‘What is thy wish, Sire, wherefore am I honoured by this visit?’
‘I would know, fair Mercia, the cause of this change of temperature, not
only in my dominions, but from all accounts I hear it is general
throughout the world. For three successive years an extreme cold has
prevailed each season. I fain would learn the reason.’
‘Some serious internal changes are taking place within the body of our
sun. Great caverns, about one-fourth of the sun’s diameter have
discovered themselves in his centre. We are not the only planet-dwellers
suffering from cold at this time, for a difference will be experienced
throughout the whole of the solar system. But it is only a temporary
inconvenience; from close observation I find that our sun is absorbing
numerous meteoric bodies, of which there are billions wandering in
interstellar space, that have been projected from the innumerable suns
still called stars by the people, and for the sake of convenience the
title is retained by physicists. I conclude therefore that there is no
cause for alarm. Our sun has indeed sent out of himself great
projectiles into space, but he is ever capturing wandering bodies that
happen to come within his influence. In this way the hydrogen of the
fixed stars is pressed into our sun’s service and a constant heat
sustained, which may last for thousands of years to come.’
‘Of all the stars thou studiest nightly to such excellent purpose, thou
art the brightest, Mercia. Thou art truly the wisest of women; and as
fair as thou art far-seeing. Thy words give comfort to the world, and
thy beauty brings thy Sovereign much delight.’
While Felicitas was uttering these pleasant gallantries, he was
gradually edging his chair nearer and nearer to that of Mercia.
Mercia’s countenance at once assumed a more serious expression; hastily
glancing towards that part of the room where Geometrus was seated she
found he had slipped out unobserved, doubtless with the intention of
leaving them quietly to their discussion on the sun’s condition.
‘Truly, it is most kind of thee, Sire, to show such appreciation; but I
seek no flatteries, or compliments—nay—I will have none of them,’ she
answered with downcast eyes.
‘Why, what harm is there in speaking a truth, Mercia? I do affirm that
thy beauty only exceeds thy knowledge, or thy knowledge thy beauty, I
know not which.’
‘Be it so, then, Sire. It is nothing to my credit if I be beautiful; I
had no part in the making; and as to my knowledge, it is a necessity to
possess it, for it is my livelihood—my very bread.’
‘Ah, Mercia, why spoil those eyes more beautiful than the brightest star
in gazing into unknown regions day and night; year in, year out? Thou
knowest no enjoyment—thou hast no pleasure of life, as other women;
thine existence is lonely—colourless. Drink of the draught of love as
nature wills it, and let the study of the stars stand over for a space.’
The voice of Felicitas as he uttered these words was low, but full of
passion; but Mercia, owing to the confusion that covered her, did not
notice the change of tone. The king’s words had indeed evoked emotions
in her breast that for years she had kept in strict abeyance: now, these
throbbed and pulsated through her frame with such force that she became
dumb, tongue-tied; at this inopportune moment a knock was heard at the
door, and the Emperor himself touched the electric button, when the door
opened of itself and gave admittance to another visitor.
It was only Geometrus who had returned for a part of an instrument he
was making, which he had inadvertently left behind; his entrance,
however, put a prompt stoppage to the Emperor’s love-making; and Mercia,
hardly knowing what she was doing rose from her seat and turned to leave
the apartment; observing her intention the Emperor concluded that it was
time to withdraw.
‘Farewell, mistress,’ he said lightly, as he made her a bow, ‘I will
come again, ere long and learn of thee the sun’s condition which is so
necessary to be acquainted with.’
It was the fashion at this time to call a woman ‘Mistress,’ whether
married or single. The abbreviation ‘Mrs.’ was discarded, as was also
‘Madam’ borrowed from the French, and the old English style resumed in
their stead; while ‘Miss’ was applied only to children. The married
woman was distinguished from the unmarried by the possession of two
surnames,—her father’s and husband’s, while the single woman was known
by her father’s name only.
Mercia, in order to escape from observation quickly made her way into
her most private apartment, and shutting herself safely within she sank
upon the silken couch, and gave way to the tumult of feelings that
overwhelmed her.
What did the Emperor mean by counselling her to relax in her duties and
give way to the passion of love? she asked herself. Was he putting her
probity to the test, merely to ascertain of what stuff she was made? or
was it only a random shot on his part, made for mere amusement, but
which had unwittingly touched her deepest feelings? Did he suspect her
affection for Geometrus?—but that was impossible; not a living soul knew
that she loved this man, not even Geometrus himself. Had Geometrus
betrayed himself in any way? Was it possible that in some unguarded
moment he had spoken of his passion for her to some friend who had
afterwards betrayed him to the Emperor? No, that was impossible.
Geometrus would not dare to speak of that which he was prohibited from
even hinting at to herself. Had some person, envious of her position,
invented some tale, and carried it to Felicitas with a view of bringing
about her downfall? If so, who could it be? Was it Heinrich, the German,
who longed for her post, and had he done this dishonourable thing to
obtain it?
Then the thought crossed her mind of the possibility that the Emperor
might have been saying something for himself, of which the bare idea
brought the crimson to her cheeks: but this solution of the question she
endeavoured promptly to dismiss, for Felicitas was already married, and
to offer her, Mercia, an illicit love would be an unparalleled
presumption, even from an Emperor.
‘What can have put this abominable thought into my head?’ she again
asked herself. Then she rose from her seat and paced up and down her
chamber with perturbed motions and flushed face.
She felt that the whole thing was mystifying to a degree. At length,
after much cogitation she concluded to take no further notice of the
matter, for it would be undignified to seek explanations either of
Geometrus or the Emperor.
‘Let me take up a position of inactivity,’ she murmured to herself, ‘I
will await developments as they unfold, and shape my course
accordingly.’
Did the Emperor dream of success in his endeavour to corrupt the
faultless Mercia? It was, indeed, a bold step for him to take with one
so high-minded, so self-controlled as she. But her very unattainability
made her all the more desirable in his eyes: the more he dwelt on the
futility of his wish the more violently his passion raged within him.
‘I must have Mercia!’ he exclaimed to himself as nightly he lay awake
dwelling on her beauty, her goodness, and her extraordinary abilities.
‘She must be mine, I cannot live without her! I will go to her again—I
will risk all, and tell her of my love. If need be, I will break down
that barrier that divides us; I will not be baulked of Mercia. If she
refuse to become mine secretly, I will wed her openly, and get rid of
that flat-faced Russian woman whom my ministers talked me into
marrying.’
Now Felicitas spoke wildly when he gave way to these thoughts, for it
was impossible to put away the Empress, he having no adequate cause
given him to justify such an attempt. Russia would indignantly resent
such treatment of their Princess, and none of the foreign Powers would
stand by him in his demand.
From nineteenth-century immorality covered by the thick cloak of
religion, a change had gradually taken place for the better in matters
matrimonial. In fact, a high standard of morality in all things had
taken the place of religious superstitions; consequently, the teachings
of common sense were adopted in the remodelling of divorce laws, which
for ages had contained serious blemishes. This, in part, was owing to
the absurd restrictions of the clergy of those times, the upper members
of which body holding the position of chief legislators together with
the peers of the realm.
These insisted on the indissolubility of the marriage tie, as far as
ever it was possible to make it, quoting ancient Mosaical laws in
support of their views, as if those old-time regulations which were
probably suitable enough in their day for the primitive people for whom
they were framed, should continue as a guide for all ages.
But long before Felicitas’ time a great revolution had taken place in
laws matrimonial, which benefited society very materially. These were
now framed on more equitable principles, for the truest benevolence
pervaded their spirit, the punishment of the guilty one being not the
only object sought, as in nineteenth-century law, which forbade the
divorce, if it was discovered the two were agreed for it, but rather the
happiness of both. Marriage was now regarded as a serious civil contract
which could not easily be violated, but relief from its yoke was allowed
under certain conditions, without either party having been conjugally
unfaithful. If a couple living a notoriously unhappy life, and finding
they were totally unadapted for each other, finally agreed to separate,
it was possible to get the marriage contract annulled, and the two set
at liberty again.
The children of the marriage, if any, would be equally divided between
them, or some amicable arrangement arrived at.
This severance did not relieve the husband of the responsibility of her
maintenance, except in cases where the wife possessed sufficient means
of her own to live upon, or in the event of her marrying again, when of
course, all responsibility on his part ceased.
It may be imagined that the Divorce Courts were kept pretty lively by
these innovations; it certainly had this effect for some little time;
but gradually as education and the higher morality advanced the number
of annulled marriages decreased.
As soon as the social plane for woman was raised she became more
exacting in her requirements, preferring to remain single rather than
mate with the morally weak, or otherwise unsuitable person.
To a man marriage was not the easy matter it had been to the
nineteenth-century bachelor, when numbers of unemployed, or,—owing to
their absurd training—hopelessly incompetent young women were to be had
for the asking. But this was all changed now; a desirable wife had
become as difficult to obtain as a desirable husband in previous
generations; and when a man’s suit proved successful, and he had gained
the object of his choice, he usually behaved in such a way towards her
as gave her considerable satisfaction.
On her side too, rested a responsibility which she realised to the
utmost; and willingly yielded to the man she had elected the devotion of
a high-minded, unselfish affection.
Love, in its purest form was woman’s ideal, for the heart as well as the
intellect was cultivated.