Temporal Power: A Study in Supremacy Part 40

"You wild soul!" he said; "Would you starve then, rather than accept a king's bounty?"

"I would!" answered Paul. "Look you, my brave Pasquin! Read back over all the centuries, and see the way in which these puppets we call kings have rewarded the greatest thinkers of their times! Is it anywhere recorded that the antique virgin, Elizabeth of England, ever did anything for Shakespeare? True--he might have been 'graciously permitted' to act one of his sublime tragedies before her--by Heaven!--she was only fit to be his scrubbing woman, by intellectual comparison! Kings and Queens have always trembled in their shoes, and on their thrones, before the might of the pen!--and it is natural therefore that they should ignore it as much as conveniently possible. A general, whose military tactics succeed in killing a hundred thousand innocent men receives a peerage and a hundred thousand a year,--a speculator who s.n.a.t.c.hes territory and turns it into stock-jobbing material, is called an 'Empire Builder'; but the man whose Thought destroys or moulds a new World, and raises up a new Civilization, is considered beneath a crowned Majesty's consideration! 'Beneath,' by Heaven!--I, Paul Zouche, may yet mount behind Majesty's chair, and with a single rhyme send his crown spinning into s.p.a.ce! Meanwhile, I have flung back his hundred golden pieces, with as much force in the edge of my pen as there would be in my hand if _you_ were his Majesty sitting there, and I flung them across the table now!"

Again Leroy laughed. His eyes flashed, but there was a certain regret and wistfulness in them.

"You approve, of course?" he said, turning to Sergius Thord.

Sergius looked for a moment at Zouche with an infinitely grave and kindly compa.s.sion.

"I think Paul has acted bravely;" he then said slowly; "He has been true to the principles of our Order. And under the circ.u.mstances, it must have been difficult for him to refuse what would have been a certain competence,--"

"Not difficult, Sergius!" exclaimed Zouche, "But purely triumphant!"

Thord smiled,--then went on--"You see, my friend," and he addressed himself now to Leroy; "Kings have scorned the power of the pen too long! Those who possess that power are now taking vengeance for neglect.

Thousands of pens all over the world to-day are digging the grave of Royalty, and building up the throne of Democracy. Who is to blame?

Royalty itself is to blame, for deliberately pa.s.sing over the claims of art and intellect, and giving preference to the claims of money. The moneyed man is ever the friend of Majesty,--but the brilliant man of letters is left out in the cold. Yet it is the man of letters who chronicles the age, and who will do so, we may be sure, according to his own experience. As the King treats the essayist, the romancist or the historian, so will these recording scribes treat the King!"

"It is possible, though," suggested Leroy, "that the King meant well in his offer to our friend Zouche?"

"Quite possible!" agreed Thord; "Only his offer of one hundred gold pieces a year to a man of intellect, is out of all proportion to the salary he pays his cook!"

A slight flush reddened Leroy's bronzed cheek. Thord observed him attentively, and saw that his soul was absorbed by some deep-seated intellectual irritation. He began to feel strangely drawn towards him; his eyes questioned the secret which he appeared to hold in his mind, but the quiet composure of the man's handsome face baffled enquiry.

Meanwhile around the table the conversation grew louder and less restrained. The young stockbroker's clerk was holding forth eloquently concerning the many occasions on which he had seen Carl Perousse at his employer's office, carefully going into the closest questions of financial losses or gains likely to result from certain political moves,--and he remembered one day in particular, when, after purchasing a hundred thousand shares in a certain company, Perousse had turned suddenly round on his broker with the cool remark--"If ever you breathe a whisper about this transaction, I will shoot you dead!"

Whereat the broker had replied that it was not his custom to give away his clients' business, and that threats were unworthy of a statesman.

Then Perousse had become as friendly as he had been before menacing; and the two had gone out of the office and lunched together. And the confidential clerk thus chattering his news, declared that his employer was now evidently uneasy; and that from that uneasiness he augured a sudden fluctuation or fall in what had lately seemed the most valuable stock in the market.

"And you? Your news, Valdor," cried one or two eager voices, while several heads leaned forward in the direction of the fiercely-moustached man who sat next to Lotys. "Where have you been with your fiddle? Do you arrive among us to-night infected by the pay, or the purple of Royalty?"

Louis Valdor, by birth a Norseman, and by sympathies a cosmopolitan, looked up with a satiric smile in his dark eyes.

"There is no purple left to infect a man with, in the modern slum of Royalty!" he said; "Tobacco-smoke, not incense, perfumes the palaces of the great nowadays--and card-playing is more appreciated than music! Yet I and my fiddle have made many long journeys lately,--and we have sent our messages of Heaven thrilling through the callous horrors of h.e.l.l!

A few nights since, I played at the Russian Court--before the beautiful Empress--cold as a stone--with her great diamonds flas.h.i.+ng on her unhappy breast,--before the Emperor, whose furtive eyes gazed unseeingly before him, as though black Fate hovered in the air--before women, whose lives are steeped in the lowest intrigue--before men, whose faces are as bearded masks, covering the wolf's snarl,--yes!--I played before these,--played with all the chords of my heart vibrating to the violin, till at last a human sigh quivered from the lips of the statuesque Empress,--till a frown crossed the brooding brow of her spouse--till the intriguing women shook off the spell with a laugh, and the men did the same with an oath--and I was satisfied! I received neither 'pay,' nor jewel of recognition,--I had played 'for the honour' of appearing before their Majesties!--but my bow was a wand to wake the little poisoned asp of despair that stings its way into the heart under every Royal mantle of ermine, and that sufficed me!"

"Sometimes," said Leroy, turning towards him; "I pity kings!"

"I' faith, so do I!" returned Valdor. "But only sometimes! And if you had seen as much of them as I have, the 'sometimes' would be rare!"

"Yet you play before them?" put in Max Graub.

"Because I must do so to satisfy the impresarios who advertise me to the public," said Valdor. "Alas!--why will the public be so foolish as to wish their favourite artist to play before kings and queens? Seldom, if ever, do these Royal people understand music,--still less do they understand the musician! Believe me, I have been treated as the veriest scullion by these jacks-in-office; and that I still permit myself to play before them is a duty I owe to this Brotherhood,--because it deepens and sustains my bond with you all. There is no king on the face of the earth who has dignity and n.o.bleness of character enough to command my respect,--much less my reverence! I take nothing from kings, remember!--they dare not offer me money--they dare not insult me with a jewelled pin, such as they would give to a station-master who sees a Royal train off. Only the other day, when I was summoned to play before a certain Majesty, a lord-in-waiting addressed me when I arrived with the insolent words--'You are late, Monsieur Valdor!--You have kept the King waiting!' I replied--'Is that so? I regret it! But having kept his Majesty waiting, I will no longer detain him; au revoir!' And I returned straightway to the carriage in which I had come. Majesty did without his music that evening, owing to the insolence of his flunkey-man! Whether I ever play before him again or not, is absolutely immaterial to me!"

"Tell me," said Pasquin Leroy, pus.h.i.+ng the flask of wine over to him as he spoke; "What is it that makes kings so unloved? I hate them myself!--but let us a.n.a.lyse the reasons why."

"Discuss--discuss!" cried Paul Zouche; "Why are kings hated? Let Thord answer first!"

"Yes--yes! Let Thord answer first!" was echoed a dozen times.

Thord, thus appealed to, looked up. His melancholy deep eyes were sombre, yet full of fire,--lonely eyes they were, yearning for love.

"Why are kings hated?" he repeated; "Because today they are the effete representatives of an effete system. I can quite imagine that if, as in olden times, kings had maintained a position of personal bravery, and personal influence on their subjects, they would have been as much beloved as they are now despised. But what we have to see and to recognise is this: in one land we hear of a sovereign who speculates hand-and-glove with low-born Jew contractors and tradesmen,--another monarch makes no secret of his desire to profit financially out of a gambling h.e.l.l started in his dominions,--another makes his domestic affairs the subject of newspaper comment,--another is always apostrophising the Almighty in public;--another is insane or stupid,--and so on through the whole gamut. Is it not natural that an intelligent People should resent the fact that their visibly governing head is a gambler, or a voluptuary? Myself, I think the growing unpopularity of kings is the result of their incapability for kings.h.i.+p."

"Now let me speak!" cried Paul Zouche excitedly; "There is another root to the matter,--a root like that of a certain tropical orchid, which according to superst.i.tion, is shaped like a man, and utters a shriek when it is pulled out of the earth! Pull out this screaming mystery,--hatred of kings! In the first place it is because they are hateful in themselves,--because they have been brought up and educated to take an immeasurable and all-absorbing interest in their own ident.i.ty, rather than in the lives, hopes and aims of their subjects. In the second--as soon as they occupy thrones, they become overbearing to their best friends. It is a well-known fact that the more loyal and faithful you are to a king, the more completely is he neglectful of you! 'Put not your trust in princes,' sang old David. He knew how untrustworthy they were, being a king himself, and a pious one to boot!

Thirdly and lastly,--they only give their own personal attention to their concubines, and leave all their honest and respectable subjects to be dealt with by servants and secretaries. Our King, for example, never smiles so graciously as on Madame Vantine, the wife of Vantine the wine-grower;--and he buys Vantine's wines as well as his wife, which brings in a double profit to the firm!"

Leroy looked up.

"Are you sure of that?"

Zouche met his eyes with a stare and a laugh.

"Sure? Of course I am sure! By my faith, your resemblance to his Majesty is somewhat striking to-night, my bold Leroy! The same straight brows--the same inscrutable, woman-conquering smile! I studied his portrait after the offer of the hundred golden pieces--and I swear you might be his twin brother!"

"I told you so!" replied Leroy imperturbably;--"It is a hateful resemblance! I wish I could rid myself of it. Still after all, there is something unique in being countenanced like a King, and minded as a Socialist!"

"True!" put in Thord gently;--"I am satisfied, Pasquin Leroy, that you are an honest comrade!"

Leroy met his eyes with a grave smile, and touched his gla.s.s by way of acknowledgement.

"You do not ask me," he said then, "whether I have been able to serve your Cause in any way since last we met?"

"This is not our regular meeting," said Johan Zegota; "We ask no questions till the general monthly a.s.sembly."

"I see!" And Leroy looked whimsically meditative--"Still, as we are all friends and brothers here, there is no harm in conveying to you the fact that I have so far moved, in the appointed way, that Carl Perousse has ordered the discovery and arrest of one Pasquin Leroy, supposed to be a spy on the military defences of the city!"

Lotys gave a little cry.

"Not possible! So soon!"

"Quite possible, Madame," said Leroy inclining his head towards her deferentially. "I have lost no time in doing my duty!" And his eyes flashed upon her with a pa.s.sionate, half-eager questioning. "I must carry out my Chief's commands!"

"But you are in danger, then?" said Sergius Thord, bending an anxious look of enquiry upon him.

"Not more so than you, or any of my comrades are," replied Leroy; "I have commenced my campaign--and I have no doubt you will hear some results of it ere long!"

He spoke so quietly and firmly, yet with such an air of a.s.surance and authority, that something of an electric thrill pa.s.sed through the entire company, and all eyes were fixed on him in mingled admiration and wonderment.

"Of the 'Corruption of the State,' concerning which our fair teacher has spoken to-night," he continued, with another quick glance at Lotys--"there can be no manner of doubt. But we should, I think, say the 'Corruption of the Ministry' rather than of the State. It is not because a few stock-jobbers rule the Press and the Cabinet, that the State is necessarily corrupt. Remove the corruptors,--sweep the dirt from the house--and the State will be clean."

"It will require a very long broom!" said Paul Zouche. "Take David Jost, for example,--he is the fat Jew-spider of several newspaper webs,--and to sweep him out is not so easy. His printed sheets are read by the million; and the million are deluded into believing him a reliable authority!"

"Nothing so easy as to prove him unreliable," said Leroy composedly; "And then----"

"Then the million will continue to read his journals out of sheer curiosity, to see how long a liar can go on lying!" said Zouche;--"Besides a Jew can turn his coat a dozen times a day; he has inherited Joseph's 'coat of many colours' to suit many opinions. At present Jost supports Perousse, and calls him the greatest statesman living; but if Perousse were once proved a fraud, Jost would pen a sublimely-conscientious leading article, beginning in this strain;--'

We are now at liberty to confess that we always had our doubts of M.

Perousse!'"

A murmur of angry laughter went round the board.