ANNO DOMINI 2000;
OR,
_WOMAN'S DESTINY_.
BY
SIR JULIUS VOGEL, K.C.M.G.
LONDON:
HUTCHINSON AND CO.,
25, PATERNOSTER SQUARE.
1889.
Printed by Hazell, Watson, & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury.
Dedicated
TO
THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
THE EARL OF CARNARVON,
WHO, BY HIS SUCCESSFUL EFFORTS TO CONSOLIDATE
THE CANADIAN DOMINIONS, HAS
GREATLY AIDED THE CAUSE
OF FEDERATION.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
PROLOGUE 3
CHAPTER I.
THE YEAR 2000--UNITED BRITAIN 27
CHAPTER II.
THE EMPEROR AND HILDA FITZHERBERT 59
CHAPTER III.
LORD REGINALD PARAMATTA 67
CHAPTER IV.
A PARTIAL VICTORY 83
CHAPTER V.
CABINET NEGOTIATIONS 99
CHAPTER VI.
BAFFLED REVENGE 119
CHAPTER VII.
HEROINE WORSHIP 165
CHAPTER VIII.
AIR-CRUISERS 177
CHAPTER IX.
TOO STRANGE NOT TO BE TRUE 193
CHAPTER X.
LORD REGINALD AGAIN 215
CHAPTER XI.
GRATEFUL IRELAND 233
CHAPTER XII.
THE EMPEROR PLANS A CAMPAIGN 251
CHAPTER XIII.
LOVE AND WAR 261
CHAPTER XIV.
THE FOURTH OF JULY RETRIEVED 287
CHAPTER XV.
CONCLUSION 295
EPILOGUE 309
PROLOGUE.
A.D. 1920.
George Claude Sonsius in his early youth appeared to have before him a
fair, prosperous future. His father and mother were of good family, but
neither of them inherited wealth. When young Sonsius finished his
university career, the small fortune which his father possessed was
swept away by the failure of a large banking company. All that remained
from the wreck was a trifling annuity payable during the lives of his
father and mother, and this they did not live long to enjoy. They died
within a year of each other, but they had been able to obtain for their
son a fairly good position in a large mercantile house as foreign
correspondent. At twenty-five the young man married; and three years
afterwards he unfortunately met with a serious accident, that made him
for two years a helpless invalid and at the end of the time left him
with his right hand incapable of use. Meanwhile his appointment had
lapsed, his wife's small fortune had disappeared, and during several
years his existence had been one continual struggle with ever-increasing
want and penury. The end was approaching. The father and mother and
their one crippled son, twelve years old, dwelt in the miserable attic
of a most dilapidated house in one of the poorest neighbourhoods of
London. The roof over their heads did not even protect them from the
weather. The room was denuded of every article of furniture with the
exception of two worthless wooden cases and a horsehair mattress on
which the unhappy boy stretched his pain-wrung limbs.
Early in life this child suffered only from weakness of the spine, but
his parents could afford no prolonged remedial measures. Not that they
were unkind to him. On the contrary, they devoted to him every minute
they could spare, and lavished on him all the attention that affection
comparatively powerless from want of means could dictate. But the food
they were able to give him was scant instead of, as his condition
demanded, varied and nutritious. At length chronic disease of the spine
set in, and his life became one long misery.
Parochial aid was refused unless they would go into the poor-house, but
the one thing Mrs. Sonsius could not bring herself to endure was the
separation from her son which was demanded of her as a condition of
relief.
For thirty hours they had been without food, when the father, maddened
by the moanings of his wife and child, rushed into the street, and
passing a baker's shop which appeared to be empty, stole from it a loaf
of bread. The proprietor, however, saw the action from an inner room. He
caught Sonsius just as he was leaving the shop. He did not care to give
the thief in charge, necessitating as it would several attendances at
the police court. He took the administration of justice into his own
hands, and dealt the unhappy man two severe blows in the face. To a
healthy person the punishment would have done comparatively little harm,
but Sonsius was weakened by disease and starvation, and the shock of the
blows was too much for him. He fell prone on the pavement, and all
attempts to restore him to consciousness proved unavailing.
Then his history became public property. Scores of people remembered the
pleasant-mannered, well-looking young man who had distinguished himself
at college, and for whom life seemed to promise a pleasant journey. The
horrible condition of his wife and child, the desperation that drove him
to the one lapse from an otherwise stainless life, the frightful
contrast between the hidden poverty and the gorgeous wealth of the great
metropolis, became themes upon which every newspaper dilated after its
own fashion. Some papers even went so far as to ask, "Was it a crime for
a man to steal a loaf of bread to save his wife and child from
starvation?"
In grim contrast with the terrible conclusion of his wretched career,
the publicity cast upon it elicited the fact that a few weeks earlier
he had inherited by the death of a distant relative an enormous fortune,
all efforts to trace him through the changes of residence that
increasing poverty had necessitated having proved unavailing. Now that
the wretched father and husband was dead, the wife for whom the bread
was stolen had become a great lady, the boy was at length to receive the
aid that wealth could give him. Poor George Claude Sonsius has nothing
to do with our story, but his fate led to the alleviation of a great
deal of misery that otherwise might have been in store for millions of
human beings.
Loud and clear rang out the cry, "What was the use of denouncing slavery
when want like this was allowed to pass unheeded by the side of
superfluous wealth?" The slave-owner has sufficient interest in his
slaves, it was alleged, as a rule, to care for their well-being. Even
criminals were clothed and fed.
Had not, it was asked, every human being the right to demand from a
world which through the resources of experience and science became
constantly more productive a sufficiency of sustenance?
The inquest room was crowded. The coroner and jury were strongly
affected as they viewed the body laid out in a luxuriously appointed
coffin. Wealth denied to the living was lavished on the dead. No longer
in rags and tatters, the lifeless body seemed to revert to the past.
Shrunken as was the frame, and emaciated the features, there remained
evidence sufficient to show that the now inanimate form was once a fine
and handsome man.
The evidence was short, and the summing up of the coroner decisive. He
insisted that the baker had not wilfully committed wrong and should not
be made responsible for the consequences that followed his rough
recovery of his property. A butcher and a general provision dealer on
the jury took strongly the same view. How were poor tradesmen to protect
themselves? They must take the law in their own hands, they argued,
otherwise it would be better to submit to being robbed rather than
waste their time in police courts. They wanted a verdict of justifiable
homicide. Another juryman (a small builder) urged a verdict of
misadventure; at first he called it peradventure. But the rest of the
jury felt otherwise. Some desired a verdict of manslaughter, and it was
long before the compromise of "Death by accident" was agreed to.
Deep groans filled the room as the result was announced. That same night
a large crowd of men and women assembled outside the baker's shop with
hostile demonstrations. The windows were destroyed, and an attempt made
to break in the door. A serious riot would probably have ensued but for
the arrival of a large body of police.
Again the fate of George Sonsius became the familiar topic of the press.
But the impression was not an ephemeral one.
The fierce spirit of discontent which for years had been smouldering
burst into flames. A secret society called the "Live and Let Live" was
formed, with ramifications throughout the world. The force of numbers,
the force of brute strength, was appealed to.
A bold and outspoken declaration was made that every human being had an
inherent right to sufficient food and clothing and comfortable lodging.
Truly poor George Sonsius died for the good of many millions of his
fellow-creatures. Our history will show the point at length achieved.
Shortly after poor Sonsius' death a remarkable meeting was held in the
city of London. The representatives of six of the largest financial
houses throughout the globe assembled by agreement to discuss the
present material condition of the world and its future prospects. There
was Lord de Cardrosse, head of the English house of that name and chief,
moreover, of the family, whose branches presided over princely houses of
finance in six of the chief cities of the continent of Europe. Second
only in power in Great Britain, the house of Bisdat and Co. was
represented by Charles James Bisdat, a man of scarcely forty, but held
to be the greatest living authority on abstruse financial questions.
The Dutch house of Von Serge Brothers was represented by its head,
Cornelius Julius Von Serge. The greatest finance house in America,
Rorgon, Bryce and Co., appeared by its chief, Henry Tudor Rorgon; and
the scarcely less powerful house of Lockay, Stanfield and Co., of San
Francisco, Melbourne, Sydney, and Wellington, was represented by its
chief, Alfred Demetrius. The German and African house of Werther, Scribe
and Co. was present in the person of its head, Baron Scribe; and the
French and Continental houses of the De Cardrosse family were
represented by the future head of the family, the Baroness de Cardrosse.
The deliberations were carried on in French.
Two or more of these houses had no doubt from time to time worked
together in one transaction; but their uniform position was one of
independence towards each other, verging more towards antagonism than to
union. In fact, the junction for ordinary purposes of such vast powers
as these kings of finance wielded would be fatal to liberty and freedom.
A single instance will suffice to show the power referred to, which
even one group of financiers could wield.
Five years previously all Europe was in a ferment. War was expected from
every quarter. It depended not on one, but on many questions. The
alliances were doubtful. Nothing seemed certain but that neutrality
would be impossible, and that the Continent would be divided into two or
more great camps. The final decision appeared to rest with Great
Britain. There an ominous disposition for war was displaying itself. The
inclination of the Sovereign and the Cabinet was supposed to be in that
direction. But the family of De Cardrosses throughout Europe was for
peace. The chief of the family was the head of the English house, and it
was decided he should interview the Prime Minister of England and
acquaint him with the views of this great financial group. His reception
was not flattering; but if he felt mortified, he did not show it. He
expressed himself deeply sensible of the honour done to him by his being
allowed to state his opinions; and with a reverential inclination he
bowed himself from the presence of the greatest statesman of his day,
the Right Honourable Randolph Stanley. That afternoon it was bruited
about that, in view of coming possibilities, the De Cardrosse family had
determined to realise securities all over Europe and send gold to
America. The next morning a disposition to sell was reported from every
direction, and five millions sterling of gold were collected for
despatch to New York. In twenty-four hours there was a panic throughout
Great Britain and Europe. The Bank of England asked for permission to
suspend specie payments, but could indicate no limit to which such a
permission should be set. It seemed as if Europe would be drained of
gold.
The great rivals of the De Cardrosses looked on and either could not or
would not interfere. A hurried Cabinet meeting was convened, and as a
result a conference by telephone was arranged between the Prime Minister
of Great Britain and the Ministers of the Great Powers of Europe.
Commencing by twos and threes, the conference developed into an
assemblage for conversational purposes of at least twenty of the chief
statesmen and diplomatists of the Old World. Rumour said that even
monarchs in two or three cases were present and inspired the telephonic
utterances of their Ministers. How the result was arrived at was known
best to those who took part in the conference, but peace and disarmament
were agreed on if certain contingencies involving the exercise of vast
power and the expenditure of enormous capital could be provided for. No
other conclusion could be arrived at, and one way or the other the
outcome had to be settled within twenty-four hours. The conference had
lasted from ten o'clock to four. At five o'clock by invitation Lord de
Cardrosse waited on the Prime Minister, who received him much more
cordially than before.
"You have caused me," he said, "to learn a great deal during the last
forty-eight hours."
"I could not presume to teach you anything. Events have spoken," was the
reply.
"And who controlled them if not the houses of De Cardrosse?"
"You do us too much honour. It is you who govern; we are of those who
are governed."
"The alliance between power and modesty," said the Prime Minister, with
pardonable irony, "is irresistible. Tell me, my Lord, is it too late for
your views to prevail?"
A slight, almost imperceptible start was the only movement the De
Cardrosse made. The enormous self-repression he was exercising cannot be
exaggerated. The future strength of the family depended on the issue.
There was, however, no tremor in his voice when he answered, "If you
adopt them, I do not think it is too late."
"But do you realise the sacrifices in all directions that have to be
made?" said the Minister in faltering tones.
"I think I do."
"And you think to secure peace those sacrifices should be made?"
"I do."
"Will you tell me what those sacrifices are?" he asked.
Lord de Cardrosse smiled. "You desire me," he said, "to tell you what
you already know." Then he proceeded to describe to the amazed Prime
Minister in brief but pregnant terms one after the other the conditions
that had been agreed on. Once only he paused and indicated that the
condition he was describing he accepted reluctantly.
"I do not conceal," said the astounded Prime Minister, "my surprise at
the extent of your knowledge; and clearly you approve the only
compromise possible. It is needless to tell you that the acceptance of
this compromise requires the use of means not at the disposal of the
Governments. In one word, will it suit you to supply them?"
"I might," responded Lord de Cardrosse, "ask you until two o'clock
to-morrow to give an answer; but I do not wish to add to your anxiety.
If you will undertake to entirely and absolutely confine within your own
breast the knowledge of what my answer will be, I will undertake that
that answer at two o'clock to-morrow shall be 'Yes.'"
Silently they shook hands. Probably these two men had never before so
thoroughly appreciated the strength and speciality of their several
powers.
The panic continued until two o'clock the following day, when an
enormous reaction took place. The part the De Cardrosse family played in
securing peace was suspected by a few only. Its full extent the Prime
Minister alone knew. He it was who enjoyed the credit for saving the
world from a desolating war.
And now, after an interval of five years, the sovereigns of finance met
in conclave. In obedience to the generally expressed wish, Lord de
Cardrosse took the chair. "I need scarcely say," he began, "that I am
deeply sensible of the compliment you pay me in asking me to preside
over such a meeting. We in this room represent a living power throughout
the globe, before which the reigning sovereigns of the world are
comparatively helpless. But, because of our great strength, it is
undesirable that we should work unitedly except for very great and
humane objects. For the mere purpose of money-making, I feel assured you
all agree with me in desiring no combination, no monopoly, that would
pit us against the rest of the world."
He paused for a moment, evidently desiring to disguise the strength of
the emotion with which he spoke.
He resumed in slower and apparently more mastered words. "I wish I could
put it to you sufficiently strongly that our houses would not have
considered any good that could result to them and to you a sufficient
excuse for inviting such a combination. We hold that the only cause that
could justify it is the conviction that for the good of mankind a vast
power requires to be wielded which is not to be found in the ordinary
machinery of government."
A murmur of applause went round the table; and Mr. Demetrius, with much
feeling, said, "You make me very happy by the assurance you have given.
I will not conceal from you that our house anticipated as much, or it
would not have been represented. We are too largely concerned with
States in which free institutions are permanent not to avoid anything
which might savour of a disposition to combine financial forces for the
benefit of financial houses."
Lord de Cardrosse then proceeded to explain that his family, in serious
and prolonged conclave, could come to no other conclusion than that
certain influences were at work which would cause great suffering to
mankind and sap and destroy the best institutions which civilisation and
science had combined to create. The time had come to answer the
question, Should human knowledge, human wants, and human skill continue
to advance to an extent to which no limit could be put, or should the
survival of the fittest and strongest be fought out in a period of
anarchy?
"It amounts," he said in a tone of profound conviction, "to this: the
ills under which the masses suffer accumulate. There is no use in
comparing what they have to-day with what they had fifty years ago. A
person who grows from infancy to manhood in a prison may feel contented
until he knows what the liberty is that others enjoy. The born blind are
happier than those who become blind by accident. To our masses the
knowledge of liberty is open, and they feel they are needlessly deprived
of it. Wider and wider to their increasing knowledge opens out the
horizon of possible delights; more and more do they feel that they are
deprived of what of right belongs to them."
He paused, as if inviting some remarks from his hearers.
Mr. Bisdat, who spoke in an interrogative rather than an affirmative
tone, took up the thread.
"I am right, I think, in concluding that your remarks do not point
against or in favour of any school of politics or doctrines of party.
You direct our notice to causes below the surface to which the
Government of the day--I had almost said the hour,--do not penetrate,
causes which you believe, if left to unchecked operation, will undermine
the whole social fabric."
"It is so," emphatically replied Lord de Cardrosse. "The evils are not
only apparent; but equally apparent is it that no remedy is being
applied, and that we are riding headlong to anarchy."
Again he paused, and Mr. Rorgon took up the discussion. "If we," he
said, "the princes of finance, do not find a remedy, how long will the
enlarged intelligence of the people submit to conditions which are at
war with the theory of the equality and liberty of mankind?"
"Yes," said the Baroness de Cardrosse, speaking for the first time, "it
is clear that there is a limit to the inequality of fortune to which men
and women will submit. Equality of possessions there cannot be; but, if
I may indulge in metaphor, we cannot expect that the bulk of humankind
will be content with being entirely shut out from the sunlight of
existence."
The gentlemen present bowed low in approval; and Mr. Demetrius said,
"The simile of the Baroness is singularly appropriate. There are myriads
of human beings to whom the sunshine of life is denied. A too universal
evil invites resistance by means which in lesser cases might be scouted.
In short, if the remedy is left to anarchy, anarchy there will be. Even
in our young lands the shadow of the coming evil is beginning to show
itself. Indeed," he added, with an air of musing abstraction, "it is not
unfair to deduce from what has been said, that, even if the evils are
less in the new lands of the West and the South, superior general
intelligence may more than proportionally increase the wants of the
multitude and the sense of wrong under which they labour."
The conference extended over three days. Every one agreed that
interference with the ordinary conditions of finance was inexpedient
except in extreme cases, but they were unanimous in thinking that an
extreme case had to be dealt with. They finally decided by the use of an
extended paper currency, with its necessary guarantees, to increase the
circulating medium and to raise the prices both of products and labour.
Some other decisions were adopted having especial reference to the
employment of labour and insurance against want in cases of disablement
through illness, accident, or old age.
So ended the most remarkable conference of any age or time.
CHAPTER I.
THE YEAR 2000--UNITED BRITAIN.
Time has passed. There have been many alterations, few of an extreme
character. The changes are mostly the results of gradual developments
worked out by the natural progress of natural laws. But as constant
dropping wears away a stone, constant progression, comparatively
imperceptible in its course, attains to immense distances after the
lapse of time. This applies though the momentum continually increases
the rate of the progress. Thus the well-being of the human kind has
undoubtedly increased much more largely during the period between 1900
and 2000 than during the previous century, but equally in either century
would it be difficult to select any five years as an example of the
turning-point of advancement. Progression, progression, always
progression, has been the history of the centuries since the birth of
Christ. Doubtless the century we have now entered on will be yet more
fruitful of human advancement than any of its predecessors. The
strongest point of the century which
"Has gone, with its thorns and its roses,
With the dust of dead ages to mix,"
has been the astonishing improvement of the condition of mankind and the
no less striking advancement of the intellectual power of woman.
The barriers which man in his own interest set to the occupation of
woman having once been broken down, the progress of woman in all
pursuits requiring judgment and intellect has been continuous; and the
sum of that progress is enormous. It has, in fact, come to be accepted
that the bodily power is greater in man, and the mental power larger in
woman. So to speak, woman has become the guiding, man the executive,
force of the world. Progress has necessarily become greater because it
is found that women bring to the aid of more subtle intellectual
capabilities faculties of imagination that are the necessary adjuncts of
improvement. The arts and caprices which in old days were called
feminine proved to be the silken chains fastened by men on women to lull
them into inaction. Without abating any of their charms, women have long
ceased to submit to be the playthings of men. They lead men, as of yore,
but not so much through the fancy or the senses as through the
legitimate consciousness of the man that in following woman's guidance
he is tending to higher purposes. We are generalising of course to a
certain extent. The variable extent of women's influence is now, as it
has been throughout the ages past, the point on which most of the dramas
of the human race depend.
The increased enjoyment of mankind is a no less striking feature of the
last hundred years. Long since a general recognition was given to the
theory that, whilst equality of possession was an impossible and indeed
undesirable ideal, there should be a minimum of enjoyment of which no
human being should be deprived unless on account of crime. Crime as an
occupation has become unknown, and hereditary crime rendered impossible.
On the other hand, the law has constituted such provisions for reserves
of wealth that anything more than temporary destitution is precluded.
Such temporary destitution can only be the result of sheer improvidence,
the expenditure, for instance, within a day of what should be expended
in a week. The moment it becomes evident, its recurrence is rendered
impossible, because the assistance, instead of being given weekly, is
rendered daily. Private charity has been minimised; indeed, it is
considered to be injurious: and all laws for the recovery of debts have
been abolished. The decision as to whether there is debt and its amount
is still to be obtained, but the satisfaction of all debt depends solely
on the sense of honour or expediency of the debtor. The posting the
name of a debtor who refuses to satisfy his liabilities has been found
to be far more efficacious than any process of law.
The enjoyment of what in the past would have been considered luxuries
has become general. The poorest household has with respect to comforts
and provisions a profusion which a hundred years since was wanting in
households of the advanced classes.
Long since there dawned upon the world the conviction--
First. That labour or work of some kind was the only condition of
general happiness.
Second. That every human being was entitled to a certain proportion of
the world's good things.
Third. That, as the capacity of machinery and the population of the
world increased production, the theory of the need of labour could not
be realised unless with a corresponding increase of the wants of
mankind; and that, instead of encouraging a degraded style of living, it
was in the interests of the happiness of mankind to encourage a style of
living in which the refinements of life received marked consideration.
Great Britain, as it used to be called, has long ceased to be a bundle
of sticks. The British dominions have been consolidated into the empire
of United Britain; and not only is it the most powerful empire on the
globe, but at present no sign is shown of any tendency to weakness or
decay. Yet there was a time--about the year 1920--when the utter
disintegration of the Empire seemed not only possible, but probable.
The Irish question was still undecided. For many years it had continued
to be the sport of Ministers. Cabinet succeeded Cabinet; each had its
Irish nostrum; each seemed to think that the Irish question was a good
means of delaying questions nearer home. The power of the nation
sensibly waned. What nation could be strong with pronounced disaffection
festering in its midst? At length, when rumours of a great war were rife
upon the result of which the very existence of Great Britain as a nation
might depend, the Colonies interposed. By this time the Canadian,
Australasian, and Cape colonies had become rich, populous, and powerful.
United, they far exceeded in importance the original mother-country.
At the instigation of the Premier of Canada, a confidential
intercolonial conference was held. In consequence of the deliberations
that ensued, a united representation was made to the Prime Minister of
England to the effect that the Colonies could no longer regard without
concern the prolonged disquiet prevailing in Ireland. They would suffer
should any disaster overtake the Empire, and disaster was courted by
permitting the continuation of Irish disaffection. Besides, the
Colonies, enjoying as they did local government, could see no reason why
Ireland should be treated differently. The message was a mandate, and
was meant to be so. The Prime Minister of England, however, puffed up
with the pride of old traditions, did not or would not so understand it,
and returned an insolent answer. Within twenty-four hours the Colonial
Ministers sent a joint respectful address to the King of England
representing that they were equally his Majesty's advisers with his
Ministers residing in England, and refusing to make any further
communications to or through his present advisers.
The Ministry had to retire; a new one was formed. Ireland received the
boon it had long claimed of local government, and the whole Empire was
federated on the condition that the federation was irrevocable and that
every part of it should fight to the last to preserve the union. The
King of England and Emperor of India was crowned amidst great pomp
Emperor of Britain. All parts of the Empire joined their strength and
resources. A federal fleet was formed on the basis that it was to equal
in power in every respect the united fleets of all the rest of the
world. Conferences with the Great Powers took place in consequence of
which Egypt, Belgium, and the whole of the ports bordering the English
Channel and Straits of Dover, and the whole of South Africa became
incorporated into the empire of Britain. Some concessions, however,
were made in other directions. These results were achieved within
fifteen years of the interference by the Colonies in federal affairs,
and the foundation was laid for the powerful empire which Britain has
become. Two other empires and one republic alone approach it in power,
and a cordial understanding exists between them to repress war to the
utmost extent possible. They constitute the police of the world. Each
portion of the Emperor of Britain's possessions enjoys local government,
but the federal government is irresistibly strong. It is difficult to
say which is the seat of government, as the Federal Parliament is held
in different parts of the world, and the Emperor resides in many places.
With the utmost comfort he can go from end to end of his dominions in
twelve days.
If a headquarter does remain, it may probably be conceded that
Alexandria fulfils that position.
The House of Lords has ceased to exist as a separate chamber. The peers
began to feel ashamed of holding positions not in virtue of their
abilities, but because of the accident of birth. It was they who first
sought and ultimately obtained the right to hold seats in the elective
branch of the Legislature; and finally it was decided that the peerage
should elect a certain number of its own members to represent it in the
Federal Parliament: in other words, the accidents of birth were
controlled by the selection of the fittest.
Our scene opens in Melbourne, in the year 2000--a few years prior to the
date at which we are writing. The Federal Parliament was sitting there
that year. The Emperor occupied his magnificent palace on the banks of
the Yarra, above Melbourne, which city and its suburbs possessed a
population of nearly two millions.
In a large and handsome room in the Federal buildings, a young woman of
about twenty-three years of age was seated. She was born in New Zealand.
She entered the local parliament before she was twenty.[A] At
twenty-two she was elected to the Federal Parliament, and she had now
become Under-Secretary of State for Home Affairs. From her earliest
youth she had never failed in any intellectual exercise. Her
intelligence was considered phenomenal. Her name was Hilda Richmond
Fitzherbert. She was descended from families which for upwards of a
century produced distinguished statesmen--a word, it should be
mentioned, which includes both sexes. She was fair to look at in both
face and figure. Dark violet eyes, brown hair flecked with a golden
tinge, clearly cut features, and a glorious complexion made up a face
artistically perfect; but these charms were what the observer least
noticed. The expression of the face was by far its chief attraction, and
words fail to do justice to it. There was about it a luminous
intelligence, a purity, and a pathos that seemed to belong to another
world. No trace of passion yet stamped it. If the love given to all
humanity ever became a love devoted to one person, the expression of the
features might descend from the spiritual to the passionate. Even then
to human gaze it might become more fascinating. But that test had not
come. As she rose from her chair you saw that she was well formed,
though slight in figure and of full height. She went to an instrument at
a side-table, and spoke to it, the materials for some half-dozen letters
referring to groups of papers that lay on the table. When she concluded,
she summoned a secretary, who removed the papers and the phonogram on
which her voice had been impressed. These letters were reproduced, and
brought to her for signature. Copies attached to the several papers were
initialled. Meanwhile she paced up and down the room in evident deep
distraction. At length she summoned a messenger, and asked him to tell
the Countess of Middlesex that she wished to see her. In a few minutes
Lady Middlesex entered the room. She was about thirty years of age, of
middle height, and pleasing appearance, though a close observer might
imagine he saw something sinister in the expression of her countenance.
After a somewhat ceremonious greeting, Miss Fitzherbert commenced: "I
have carefully considered what passed at our last interview. It is
difficult to separate our official and unofficial relations. I am still
at a loss to determine whether you have spoken to me as the Assistant
Under-Secretary to the Under-Secretary or as woman to woman."
Lady Middlesex quickly rejoined, "Will you let me speak to you as woman
to woman, and forget for a moment our official relations?"
"Can you doubt it?" replied Miss Fitzherbert. "But remember that our
wishes are not always under our control, and that, though I may not
desire to remember to your prejudice what you say, I may not be able to
free myself from recollection."
"And yet," said Lady Middlesex, with scarcely veiled irony, "the world
says Miss Fitzherbert does not know what prejudice means!"
The slightest possible movement of impatience was all the rejoinder
vouchsafed to this speech.
Lady Middlesex continued, "I spoke to you as strongly as I dared, as
strongly as my position permitted, about my brother Reginald--Lord
Reginald Paramatta. He suffers under a sense of injury. He is miserable.
He feels that it is to you that he owes his removal to a distant
station. He loves you, and does not know if he may venture to tell you
so."
"No woman," replied Miss Fitzherbert, "is warranted in regarding with
anger the love of a good man; but you know, or ought to know, that my
life is consecrated to objects that are inconsistent with my
entertaining the love you speak of."
"But," said Lady Middlesex, "can you be sure that it always will be so?"
"We can be sure of nothing."
"Nay," replied Lady Middlesex, "do not generalise. Let me at least enjoy
the liberty you have accorded me. If you did not feel that there were
possibilities for Reginald in conflict with your indifference, why
should you trouble yourself with his removal?"
"I have not admitted that I am concerned in his removal."
"You know you are; you cannot deny it."
Miss Fitzherbert was dismayed at the position into which she had
allowed herself to be forced. She must either state what truth forbade
or admit that to some extent Lord Reginald had obtained a hold on her
thoughts.
"Other men," pursued Lady Middlesex, with remorseless directness, "have
aspired as Reginald does; and you have known how to dispose of their
aspirations without such a course as that of which my brother has been
the object."
"I have understood," said Miss Fitzherbert, "that Lord Reginald is
promoted to an important position, one that ought to be intensely
gratifying to so comparatively young a man."
"My brother has only one wish, and you are its centre. He desires only
one position."
"I did not infer, Lady Middlesex," said Miss Fitzherbert, with some
haughtiness, "that you designed to use the permission you asked of me to
become a suitor on your brother's behalf."
"Why else should I have asked such permission?" replied Lady Middlesex,
with equal haughtiness. Then, with a sudden change of mood and manner,
"Miss Fitzherbert, forgive me. My brother is all in all to me. My
husband and my only child are dead. My brother is all that is left to me
to remind me of a once happy home. Do not, I pray, I entreat you,
embitter his life. Ask yourself--forgive me for saying so--if ambition
rather than consecration to a special career may not influence you; and
if your conscience replies affirmatively, remember the time will come to
you, as it has come to other women, when success, the applause of the
crowd, and a knowledge of great deeds effected will prove a poor
consolation for the want of one single human being on whom to lavish a
woman's love. Most faculties become smaller by disuse, but it is not so
with the affections; they revenge themselves on those who have dared to
disbelieve in their force."
"You assume," said Miss Fitzherbert, "that I love your brother."
"Is it not so?"
"No! a thousand times no!"
"You feel that you might love him. That is the dawn of love."
"Listen, Lady Middlesex. That dawn has not opened to me. I will not
deny, I have felt a prepossession in favour of your brother; but I have
the strongest conviction that my life will be better and happier because
of my refusing to give way to it. For me there is no love of the kind.
In lonely maidenhood I will live and die. If my choice is unwise, I will
be the sufferer; and I have surely the right to make it. My lady, our
interview is at an end."
Lady Middlesex rose and bowed her adieu, but another thought seemed to
occur to her. "You will," she said, "at least see my brother before he
goes. Indeed, otherwise I doubt his leaving. He told me this morning
that he would resign."
Miss Fitzherbert after a moment's thought replied, "I will see your
brother. Bid him call on me in two hours' time. Good-bye."
As she was left alone a look of agony came over her face. "Am I wise?"
she said. "That subtle woman knew how to wound me. She is right. I
could love; I could adore the man I loved. Will all the triumphs of the
world and the sense of the good I do to others console me during the
years to come for the sunshine of love to which every woman has a claim?
Yes, I do not deny the claim, high as my conception is of a woman's
destiny." After a few moments' pause, she started up indignantly. "Am I
then," she ejaculated half aloud, "that detestable thing a woman with a
mission, and does the sense of that mission restrain me from yielding to
my inclination?" Again she paused, and then resumed, "No, it is not so.
I have too easily accepted Lady Middlesex's insinuation. I am neither
ambitious nor philanthropic to excess. It is a powerful instinct that
speaks to me about Lord Reginald. To a certain extent I am drawn to him,
but I doubt him, and it is that which restrains me. I am more disposed
to be frightened of than to love him. Why do I doubt him? Some strong
impulse teaches me to do so. What do I doubt? I doubt his loving me
with a love that will endure, I doubt our proving congenial companions,
and--why may I not say it to myself?--I doubt his character. I question
his sincerity. The happiness of a few months might be followed by a life
of misery. I must be no weak fool to allow myself to be persuaded."
Hilda Fitzherbert was a thoroughly good, true-hearted, and lovable girl.
Clever, well informed, and cultivated to the utmost, she had no
disposition to prudery or priggishness. She was rather inclined to
under- than over-value herself. Lady Middlesex's clever insinuations had
caused her for the moment to doubt her own conduct; but reflection
returned in time, and once more she became conscious that she felt for
Lord Reginald no more attachment than any woman might entertain for a
handsome, accomplished man who persistently displayed his admiration.
She was well aware that under ordinary circumstances such feelings as
she had, might develop into strong love if there were no reverse to the
picture; but in this case conviction--call it, if you will, an
instinct--persuaded her there was an opposite side. She felt that Lord
Reginald was playing a part; that, if his true character stood revealed
to her, an unfathomable abyss would yawn between them.
Her reflections were disturbed by the entrance of a lady of very
distinguished mien. She might indeed look distinguished, for the Right
Honourable Mrs. Hardinge was not only Prime Minister of the empire of
Britain, but the most powerful and foremost statesman in the world. In
her youth she had been a lovely girl; and even now, though not less than
forty years of age, she was a beautiful--it might be more correct to
say, a grand--woman. A tall, dignified, and stately figure was set off
by a face of which every feature was artistically correct and capable of
much variety of expression; and over that expression she held entire
command. She had, if she wished it, an arch and winning manner, such as
no one but a cultivated Irishwoman possesses; the purest Irish blood ran
through her veins. She could say "No" in a manner that more delighted
the person whose request she was refusing than would "Yes" from other
lips. An adept in all the arts of conversation, she could elicit
information from the most inscrutable statesmen, who under her influence
would fancy she was more confidential to them than they to her. By
indomitable strength she had fought down an early inclination to
impulsiveness. The appearance still remained, but no statesman was more
slow to form opinions and less prone to change them. She could, if
necessary, in case of emergency, act with lightning rapidity; but she
had schooled herself to so act only in cases of extreme need. She had a
warm heart, and in the private relations of life no one was better
liked.
Hilda Fitzherbert worshipped her; and Mrs. Hardinge, childless and with
few relations, loved and admired the girl with a strength and tenacity
that made their official relations singularly pleasant.
"My dear Hilda," she said, "why do you look so disturbed, and how is it
you are idle? It is rare to find you unoccupied."
Hilda, almost in tears, responded, "Dear Mrs. Hardinge, tell me, do
tell me, what do you really think of Lord Reginald Paramatta?"
If Mrs. Hardinge felt any surprise at the extraordinary abruptness of
the question, she did not permit it to be visible.
"My dear, the less you think of him the better. I will tell you how I
read his character. He is unstable and insincere, capable of any
exertion to attain the object on which he has set his mind; the moment
he has gained it the victory becomes distasteful to him. I have offered
him the command of our London forces to please you, but I tell you
frankly I did so with reluctance. Nor would I have promoted him to the
post but that it has long ceased to possess more than traditional
importance. Those chartered sybarites the Londoners can receive little
harm from Lord Reginald, and the time has long passed for him to receive
any good. Such as it is, his character is moulded; and professionally he
is no doubt an accomplished officer and brave soldier. Besides that, he
possesses more than the ordinary abilities of a man."
Hilda looked her thanks, but said no more than "Your opinion does not
surprise me, and it tallies with my own judgment."
"Dear girl, do not try to dispute that judgment. And now to affairs of
much importance. I have come from the Emperor, and I see great
difficulties in store for us."
Probably Hilda had never felt so grateful to Mrs. Hardinge as she did
now for the few words in which she had expressed so much, with such fine
tact. An appearance of sympathy or surprise would have deeply wounded
the girl.
"Dear mamma," she said--as sometimes in private in moments of affection
she was used to do--"does his Highness still show a disinclination to
the settlement to which he has almost agreed?"
"He shows the most marked disinclination, for he told me with strong
emotion that he felt he would be sacrificing the convictions of his
race."
The position of the Emperor was indeed a difficult one. A young,
high-spirited, generous, and brave man, he was asked by his Cabinet to
take a step which in his heart he abhorred. A short explanation is
necessary to make the case clear. When the Imperial Constitution of
Britain was promulgated, women were beginning to acquire more power; but
no one thought of suggesting that the preferential succession to the
direct heirs male should be withdrawn.
Meanwhile women advanced, and in all other classes of life they gained
perfect equality with regard to the laws of succession and other
matters, but the custom still remained by which the eldest daughter of
the Emperor would be excluded in favour of the eldest son. Some
negotiations had proceeded concerning the marriage of the Emperor to the
daughter of the lady who enjoyed the position of President of the United
States, an intense advocate of woman's equality. She was disposed, if
not determined, to make it a condition of the marriage that the eldest
child, whether son or daughter, should succeed. The Emperor's Cabinet
had the same view, and it was one widely held throughout the Empire.
But there were strong opinions on the other side. The increasing number
of women elected by popular suffrage to all representative positions and
the power which women invariably possessed in the Cabinet aroused the
jealous anger of men. True, the feeling was not in the ascendant, and
other disabilities of women were removed; but in this particular case,
the last, it may be said, of women's disabilities, a separate feeling
had to be taken into account. The ultra-Conservatives throughout the
Empire, including both men and women, were superstitiously tenacious of
upholding the Constitution in its integrity and averse to its being
changed in the smallest particular. They felt that everything important
to the Empire depended upon the irrevocable nature of the Constitution,
and that the smallest change might be succeeded by the most organic
alterations. The merits of the question mattered nothing in their
opinion in comparison with the principle which they held it was a matter
of life and death not to disturb.
It was now proposed to introduce a Bill to enable the Emperor to
declare that the succession should be to the eldest child. The Cabinet
were strongly in favour of it, and to a great extent their existence as
a Government depended on it. The Emperor was well disposed to his
present advisers, but, it was no secret, was strongly averse to this one
proposal. The contemplated match was an affair of State policy rather
than of inclination. He had seldom met his intended bride, and was not
prepossessed with her. She was good-looking and a fine girl; but she had
unmistakably red hair, an adornment not to his taste. Besides, she was
excessively firm in her opinions as to the superiority of women over
men; and he strongly suspected she would be for ever striving to rule
not only the household, but the Empire. It is difficult to fathom the
motives of the human mind, difficult not only to others, but to the
persons themselves concerned. The Emperor thought that his opposition to
placing the succession on an equality between male and female was
purely one of loyalty to his ancestors and to the traditions of the
Empire. But who could say that he did not see in a refusal to pass the
necessary Act a means of escaping the distasteful nuptials? Mrs.
Hardinge had come from a long interview with him, and it was evident
that she greatly doubted his continued support. She resumed, "His
Highness seems very seriously to oppose the measure, and indeed quite
ready to give up his intended marriage. I wonder," she said, looking
keenly at Hilda, "whether he has seen any girl he prefers."
The utter unconsciousness with which Hilda heard this veiled surmise
appeared to satisfy Mrs. Hardinge; and she continued, "Tell me, dear,
what do you think?"
"I am hardly in a position to judge. Does the Emperor give no reasons
for his opposition?"
"Yes, he has plenty of reasons; but his strongest appears to be that
whoever is ruler of the Empire should be able to lead its armies."
"I thought," said Miss Fitzherbert, "that he had some good reason."
"Do you consider this a good reason?" inquired Mrs. Hardinge sharply.
"From his point of view, yes; from ours, no," said Hilda gently, but
promptly.
"Then you do not think that we should retreat from our position even if
retreat were possible?"
"No," replied Hilda. "Far better to leave office than to make a
concession of which we do not approve in order to retain it."
"You are a strange girl," said Mrs. Hardinge. "If I understand you
rightly, you think both sides are correct."
"I think that there is a great deal to be said on both sides, and this
is constantly the case with important controversies. Between the metal
and the flint the spark of truth is struck. I should think it no
disgrace to be defeated on a subject about which we could show good
cause. I might even come to think that better cause had been shown
against us after the discussion was over; but to flee the discussion, to
sacrifice conviction to expediency--that would be disgraceful."
"Then," said Mrs. Hardinge, with some interest, "if the Emperor were to
ask your opinion, you would try to persuade him to our side?"
"Yes and no. I would urge strongly my sense of the question and my
opinion that it is better to settle at once a controversy about which
there is so much difference of opinion. But I should respect his views;
and if they were conscientious, I should not dare to advise him to
sacrifice them."
An interruption unexpected by Miss Fitzherbert, but apparently not
surprising to Mrs. Hardinge, occurred. An aide-de-camp of the Emperor
entered. After bowing low to the ladies, he briefly said, "His Imperial
Majesty desires the presence of Miss Fitzherbert."
A summons so unusual raised a flush to the girl's cheek. She looked at
Mrs. Hardinge.
"I had intended to tell you," said that lady, "that the Emperor
mentioned he would like to speak to you on the subject we have been
considering." Then, turning to the aide-de-camp, she said, "Miss
Fitzherbert will immediately wait on his Majesty."
The officer left the room.
Hilda archly turned to Mrs. Hardinge. "So, dear mamma, you were
preparing me for this interview?"
"Dear child," said the elder lady, "you want no preparation. Whatever
the consequences to me, I will not ask you to put any restraint on the
expression of your opinions."
FOOTNOTE:
[A] Every adult of eighteen years of age was allowed to vote and was
consequently, by the laws of the Empire, eligible for election.