The principality of Pornia is not a large country and in the ordinary
course of history it should have been swallowed entire, centuries ago,
by one of the kingdoms which surround it. Its situation has saved it
from this fate, for it is the buffer state between two great monarchies
whose jealousy has preserved for Pornia an independent existence.
Despite its independence, Pornia has never received much consideration
from the rest of Europe, and the aim of its princes for many generations
has been to foist it into the great councils by a strong alliance with
one of the two kingdoms to which it serves as a buffer.
The long-desired opportunity came at last in the reign of Alexander VI,
who, one morning, commanded Rudolph of Herzvina to appear at the palace.
As soon as the worthy old baron appeared, Alexander spoke to him as
follows: "Rudolph, you are an old and respected counselor, a devoted
servant of the State, and therefore I am delighted to announce that the
greatest honor is about to descend upon your family, an honor so great
that the entire State of Pornia will be elevated thereby. The Crown
Prince Charles wishes to make your daughter his wife!"
At this he stepped back, the better to note the joy with which old
Rudolph would receive this announcement, but, to his astonishment, the
baron merely bowed his head and sighed.
"Your highness," said Rudolph of Herzvina, "I have long known of the
attachment which the crown prince has for my daughter, Bertha, but I
fear that the marriage can never be consummated."
"Come, come!" said the prince genially. "It is a far leap indeed from
Baron of Herzvina to father-in-law to Prince Charles, but there have
been stranger things in history than this, though never anything that
could so effectually elevate Pornia. Have no fear of Charles. He loves
your daughter; he is strong-minded as the very devil; he will override
any opposition from his father. As a matter of fact, it is no secret
that Charles is already practically the ruler over his kingdom. So
rejoice, Herzvina, and I will rejoice with you!"
But the baron merely shook his head sadly and repeated: "I fear the
marriage can never be consummated."
"Why not?" said the prince in some heat. "I tell you, his royal highness
loves the girl. I could read passion even in the stilted language of his
ambassador's message. Why not?"
"I was not thinking of his royal highness, but of the girl. She will not
marry him."
The prince dropped into a chair with jarring suddenness.
Rudolph continued hastily: "I have talked with Bertha many times and
seriously of the matter; I have tried to convince her of her duty; but
she will not hear me. The foolish girl says she does not love his
highness."
The prince smote his hands together in an ecstasy of impatience.
"Love! Love! In the name of God, Herzvina, what has love to do with
this? This is the thing for which Pornia has waited during centuries.
Through this alliance I can make a treaty that will place Pornia once
and forever upon the map of the diplomatic powers. Love!"
"I have said all this to her, but she is obdurate."
"Does she expect some fairy prince? She is not a child; she is not
even--forgive me--beautiful."
"True. She is not even pretty, but even homely women, your highness,
will sometimes think of love. It is a weakness of the sex."
He was not satirical; he was very earnest indeed. He continued: "I have
tried every persuasion. She only says in reply: 'He is too old. I cannot
love him.'"
An inspiration came to Alexander of Pornia. Under the stress of it he
rose and so far forgot himself as to clap a hand upon the shoulder of
Herzvina. In so doing he had to reach up almost as high as his head, for
the princes of Pornia have been small men, time out of mind.
"Baron," he said, "will you let me try my hand at persuasion?"
"It would be an honor, sire. My family is ever at the disposal of my
prince."
He answered with a touch of emotion: "I know it, Rudolph; but will you
trust the girl in my hands for a number of days? A thought has come to
me. I know I can convince her that this love of which she dreams is a
thing of the flesh alone, a physical necessity. Come, send her to me,
and I shall tear away her illusions. She will not thank me for it, but
she will marry the crown prince."
"I will send her to the palace to-day."
"Very good; and first tell her why I wish to speak with her. It may be
that of herself she will change her mind when she learns the wishes of
her prince. Farewell."
And the prince rode off to a review of the troops of the city guard. So
it was that Bertha of Herzvina sat for a long time in a lonely room,
after her arrival at the palace before the door opened, a man in livery
bowed for the entrance of the prince, and she found herself alone with
her sovereign.
Automatically she curtsied, and he let her remain bowed while he slowly
drew off his white gloves. He still wore his general's uniform with the
stiff padding which would not allow his body to grow old, for a prince
of Pornia must always look the soldier.
"Sit down," he ordered, and as she obeyed he commenced to walk the room.
He never sat quietly through an interview if he could avoid it; a
constitutional weakness of the nerves made it almost impossible for him
to meet another person's eyes. The pacing up and down gave a plausible
reason for the continual shifting of his glance.
"A good day, a very good day," he said. "The hussars were wonderful."
His shoulders strained further back. The prince himself always rode at
the head of the hussars; in her childhood she had admired him. He
stopped at a window and hummed a marching air. That was a planned
maneuver, for his back was far more royal than his face, with its tall
forehead and diminutive mouth and chin. She felt as if she were in the
presence of a uniformed automaton.
He broke off his humming and spoke without turning.
"Well?"
"My decision is unchanged."
"Impossible! In the length of a whole day even a woman must think
twice."
"Yes, many times."
"You will not marry him?"
"I cannot love him."
He whirled, and the pale blue eyes flashed at her a brief glance which
made her cringe. It was as if an X-ray had been turned on her heart.
"Love!" he said softly, and she shuddered again. "Because he is old?
Bertha, you are no longer a child. Other women marry for what they may
term love. It is your privilege to marry for the State. That is the
nobler thing."
He smiled and nodded, repeating for his own ear: "The nobler thing! What
is greater than such service--what is more glorious than to forget self
and marry for the good of the thousands?"
"I have an obligation to myself."
"Who has filled you with so many childish ideas?"
"They have grown of themselves, sire."
The pacing up and down the room recommenced. "Child, have you no desire
to serve me? I mean, your country?"
She answered slowly, as if feeling for her words: "It is impossible that
I should be able to serve you through my dishonor. If I should marry
the crown prince, my life would be one long sleep, sire. I would not
dare awaken to the reality."
His head tilted and he laughed noiselessly. A weakness of the throat
prevented him from raising his voice even in times of the greatest
excitement.
"A soul that sleeps, eh? The kiss of love will awaken it?"
He surveyed her with brief disdain.
"My dear, you scorn titles, and yet as an untitled woman you are not a
match for the first red-faced tradesman's daughter. Stand up!"
She rose and he led her in front of a pier glass. Solemnly he studied
her pale image.
"A sleeping soul!" he repeated.
She covered her face.
"Will that bait catch the errant lover, Bertha?"
"God will make up the difference."
He cursed softly. She had not known he could be so moved.
"Poor child, let me talk with you."
He led her back to a chair almost with kindness and sat somewhat behind
her so that he need not meet her eyes.
"This love you wait for--it is not a full-grown god, dear girl, but a
blind child. Given a man and a woman and a certain propinquity, and
nature does the rest. We put a mask on nature and call it love, we name
an abstraction and call it God. Love! Love! Love! It is a pretty
disguise--no more. Do you understand?"
"I will not."
She listened to his quick breathing.
"Bertha, if I were to chain you with a ten-foot chain to the first man
off the streets and leave you alone with him for three days, what would
happen?"
Her hand closed on the arm of the chair. He rose and paced the room as
his idea grew.
"Your eyes would criticize him and your shame would fight in behalf of
your--soul? And the sight of your shame would keep the man in check. But
suppose the room were dark--suppose you could not see his face and
merely knew that a man was there--suppose _he_ could not see and merely
knew that a woman was there? What would happen? Would it be love? Pah!
Love is no more deified than hunger. If it is satisfied, it goes to
sleep; if it is satiated, it turns to loathing. Aye, at the end of the
three days you would be glad enough to have the ten-foot chain cut. But
first what would happen?"
The vague terror grew coldly in her, for she could see the idea taking
hold of him like a hand.
"If I were to do this, the world might term it a shameful thing, but I
act for Pornia--not for myself. I consider only the good of the State.
By this experiment I prove to you that love is not God, but blind
nature. Yes, and if you knew it as it is, would you oppose me longer?
The thought grows upon me! Speak!"
Her smile made her almost beautiful.
"Sire, in all the world there is only one man for every woman."
"Book talk."
He set his teeth because he could not meet her eyes.
"And who will bring you this one man?"
"God."
Once more the soundless laugh.
"Then I shall play the part of God. Bertha, you must now make your
decision: a marriage for the good of the State, or the ten-foot chain,
the dark room--and love!"
"Even you will not dare this, sire."
"Bertha, there is nothing I do not dare. What would be known? I give
orders that this room be utterly darkened; I send secret police to seize
a man from the city at random and fetter him to a chain in that room;
then I bring you to the room and fasten you to the other end of the
chain, and for three days I have food introduced into the room. Results?
For the man, death; for you, a knowledge first of yourself and,
secondly, of love. The State will benefit."
"It is bestial--incredible."
"Bestial? Tut! I play the part of God and even surpass Him. I put you
face to face with a temptation through which you shall come to know
yourself. You lose a dream; you gain a fact. It is well. Shame will
guard the secret in your heart--and the State will benefit. Still you
see that I am paternal--merciful. I do not punish you for your past
obstinacy. I still give you a choice. Bertha, will you marry as I wish,
or will you force me to play the part of God?"
"I shall not marry."
"Ah, you will wait for God to make up the difference. It is well--very
well; _le Dieu c'est moi_. Ha! That is greater than the phrase of Louis
XIV. You shall have still more time, but the moment the sun goes down,
if I do not hear from you, I shall ring a bell that will send my secret
police out to seize a man indiscriminately from the masses of the city.
I shall not even stipulate that he be young. My trust in nature
is--absolute. _Adieu!_"
She made up her mind the moment he left the room. She drew on her cloak.
Before the pier glass she paused.
"Aye," she murmured, "I could not match the first farmer's daughter. But
still there must be one man in the world--and God will make up the
difference!"
She threw open the door which gave on a passage leading to a side
entrance. A grenadier of the palace guard jumped to attention and
presented arms.
"Pardon," he said.
He completely blocked the hall; the prince had left nothing to chance.
She started to turn back and then hesitated and regarded the man
carefully.
"Fritz!" she said at last, for she recognized the peasant who had been a
stable-boy on her father's estate before he took service in the
grenadiers. "You are Fritz Barr!"
He flushed with pleasure.
"_Madame_ remembers me?"
"And my little black pony you used to take care of?"
"Yes, yes!"
He grinned and nodded; and then she noted a revolver in the holster at
his side.
"What are your orders, Fritz?"
"To let no one pass down this hall. I am sorry, _madame_."
"But if I were to ask you for your revolver?"
He stirred uneasily and she took money from her purse and gave it to
him.
"With this you could procure another weapon?"
He drew a long breath; the temptation was great.
"I could, _madame_."
"Then do so. It will never be known from whom I received the gun--and my
need is desperate--desperate!"
He unbuckled the weapon without a word, and with it in her hand she
returned to the room.
There was a tall western window, and before this she drew up a chair to
watch the setting of the sun.
"Will he ring the bell when the edge of the sun touches the hills or
when it is completely set?" she thought.
The white circle grew yellow; then it took on a taint of orange, bulging
oddly at the sides into a clumsy oval. From the gardens below came a
stir of voices and then the thrill of a girl's laughter. She smiled as
she listened, and, leaning from the window, the west wind blew to her
the scent of flowers. She sat there for a long time, breathing deeply of
the fragrance and noting all the curves of the lawn with a still, sad
pleasure. The green changed from bright to dark; when she looked up the
sun had set.
As she turned from the gay western sky, the room was doubly dim and the
breeze of the evening set the curtains rustling and whispering. Silence
she was prepared for, but not those ghostly voices, not the shift and
sweep of the shadows. She turned the electric switch, closing her eyes
to blur the shock of the sudden deluge of light. The switch clicked, but
when she opened her eyes the room was still dark; they had cut the
connecting wires.
Thereafter her mind went mercifully blank, for what she faced was, like
birth and death, beyond comprehension. Noise at the windows roused her
from the daze at last and she found that a number of workmen were
sealing the room so that neither light nor sound could enter or escape.
The only air would be from the ventilator. And still she could not
realize what had happened, what was to happen, until the last sounds of
the workmen ceased and the deep, dread silence began; silence that had a
pulse in it--the beating of her heart.
She was standing in the middle of the room when the first shapes formed
in the black night, and terror hovered about her suddenly, touching her
as with cold fingers. She felt her way back to a corner and crouched
there against the wall, waiting, waiting. They had seized the doomed
man long before this. They must have bound and gagged him and carried
him to the palace.
A thousand types of men passed before her inward eye--thin-faced clerks,
men as pale as the belly of a dead fish; bearded monsters, gross and
thick-lipped, with thunderous laughter; laborers, stamped with patient
weariness--and all whom she saw carried the sign of the beast in their
eyes. She tried to pray, but the voice of the prince rang in her ears:
"_Le Dieu, c'est moi!_" and when she named God in her prayers, she
visualized Alexander's face, the pale, small eyes, the colorless hair,
the lofty brow, the mouth whose tight lips could not be disguised by
even the careful mustache. When a key turned in a door, she sprang to
her feet with a cry of horror.
"It is I," said the prince.
"I am dying; I cannot stay here; I will marry whom and when you will."
"Ah, my dear, you should have spoken before sunset. I warned you, and I
never change my mind. It is only for three days, remember. Also, it is
in the interest of science. Beyond that, I have quite taken a fancy to
playing God for you for three days. Do you understand?"
The even, mocking tones guided her to him. She fell at his feet and
strained his thin knees against her breast.
"Come! Be reasonable, Bertha. This is justice."
"Sire, I want no justice. For God's sake, be merciful."
She heard the shaken breath of his soundless laughter.
"Is it so? You should be grateful to me. Trust me, child, I am bringing
you the love of which you have dreamed. Ha! Ha! _Le Dieu, c'est moi!_"
The clanking of the chain which he carried stilled her voice. It hushed
even the thunder of her heart. She rose and waited patiently while the
manacle was affixed to her wrist. The prince crossed the room and tapped
on the door, which opened, and by a faint light from without Bertha
discovered two men carrying a third into the room. She strained her
eyes, but could make out no faces. The burden was laid on the floor; a
metallic sound told her that she was fettered to the unknown.
The prince said: "You are a brave girl. All may yet be well. Then human
nature is finer than I think. We shall see. As for your lover, your gift
from God, he is sleeping soundly now. It may be an hour before the
effects of the drug wear away. During that time you can think of love.
Food will be placed three times a day within the door yonder. You can
readily find it by feeling your way around the wall. Farewell."
When the door closed she started to retreat to her corner, but the chain
instantly drew taut with a rattle. Strangely enough, much of her fear
left her now that she was face to face with the danger; temptation, the
prince had called it. She smiled as she remembered. When the man awoke
and learned their situation, she had no doubt as to how he would act.
She had seen the sign of the beast in the eyes of many men, great and
small; she had seen it and understood. The revolver might save her for a
time, but what if she slept? She knew it would be almost impossible to
remain awake during three days and nights.
The moment her eyes closed the end would come. It seemed better that she
should fire the bullet now.
When he recovered his senses, it would be difficult to shoot effectively
in the dark, for this was not the gloom of night--it was an absolute
void, black, thick, impenetrable. She could not make out her hand at the
slightest distance from her eyes. He might even attack her from behind
and knock the revolver from her hand before she could shoot. Sooner or
later the man must die. Even if she did not kill him it would be
accomplished by the command of the prince at the end of the three days.
Far better that it should be done at once--that he should never awaken
from his sleep. She reached the decision calmly and crept forward to
him. Very lightly she passed her hand over his clothes. She had to move
his arm to uncover the breast over his heart; the arm was a limp weight,
but the muscles were firm, round, and solid. The first qualm troubled
her as she realized that this must be a young man, at least a man in the
prime of his physical strength.
Then it occurred to her that often bullets fired into the breast are
deflected from the heart by bones; it would be far more certain to lay
the muzzle against the temple--press the trigger--the soul would depart.
The soul! She paused with a thrill of wonder. A little touch would loose
the swift spirit. The soul! For the first time she saw the tragedy from
the viewpoint of the unknown man. His life was cut in the middle; truly
a blind fate had reached out and chosen him from a whole city. Yet she
was merely hastening the inevitable. She reached out and found his
forehead.
It was broad and high. Tracing it lightly with the tips of her fingers
she discovered two rather prominent lumps of bony structure over the
eyes. Some one had told her that this represented a strong power of
memory. She tried to visualize that feature alone, and very suddenly, as
a face shows when a man lights his cigarette on the street at night, she
saw in memory the figure of Rembrandt's "Portrait of a Young Painter."
He sits at his drawing board, his pencil poised, ready for the stroke
which shall give vital character to his sketch. There is only one high
light, falling on the lower part of the face. Inspiration has tightened
the sensitive mouth; the questing eyes peer out from the shadow of the
soft cap. She broke off from her vision to realize with a start that
when she touched the trigger she would be stepping back through the
centuries and killing her dream of the original of Rembrandt's picture.
A foolish fancy, truly, but in the dark a dream may be as true, as vivid
as reality.
The unconscious man sighed. She leaned close and listened to his
breathing, soft, hurried, irregular as if he struggled in his sleep, as
if the subconscious mind were calling to the conscious: "Awake! Death is
here!"
At least there was plenty of time. She need not fire the shot until he
moved. She laid the revolver on her lap and absently allowed her hands
to wander over his face, lingering lightly on each feature. She grew
more alert after a moment. Every particle of her energy was concentrated
on seeing that face--on seeing it through her sense of touch. The blind,
she knew, grow so dextrous that the delicate nerves of their finger tips
record faces almost as accurately as the eyes of the normal person.
Ah, for one moment of that power! She tried her best. The nose, she told
herself, was straight and well modeled. The eyes, for she traced the
bony structure around them, must be large; the cheek bones high, a sign
of strength; the chin certainly square and prominent; the lips full and
the mouth rather large; the hair waving and thick; the throat large. One
by one she traced each detail and then, moving both hands rather swiftly
over the face, she strove to build the mental picture of the whole--and
she achieved one, but still it was always the young painter whom great
Rembrandt had drawn. The illusion would not go out of her mind.
An artist's hands, it is said, must be strong and sinewy. She took these
hands and felt the heavy bones of the wrist and strove to estimate the
length of the fingers. It seemed to her that this was an ideal hand for
a painter--it must be both strong and supple.
He sighed again and stirred; she caught up the weapon with feverish
haste and poised it.
"Ah, it is well," said the sleeper in his dream.
She made sure that he was indeed unconscious and then leaned low,
whispering: "Adieu, my dear."
At some happy vision he laughed softly. His breath touched her face.
Surely he could never know; he had so short a moment left for living;
perhaps this would pass into his latest dream on earth and make it
happy.
"Adieu!" she whispered again, and her lips pressed on his.
She laid the muzzle of the revolver against his temple, and, summoning
all her will power, she pressed the trigger. It seemed as if she were
pulling against it with her full strength, and yet there was no report.
Then she realized that all her might was going into an inward struggle.
She summoned to her aid the voice of the prince as he had said: "We put
a mask on nature and call it love; we name an abstraction and call it
God. _Le Dieu, c'est moi!_" She placed the revolver against the temple
of the sleeper; he stirred and disturbed the surety of her direction.
She adjusted the weapon again.