Another event, which was correctly or incorrectly traced to Leroy’s silently working influence, was the sudden meteoric blaze of Paul Zouche into fame. How it happened, no one knew; — and why it happened was still more of a mystery, because by all its own tenets and traditions the social world ought to have set itself dead against the ‘Psalm of Revolution,’ — the title of the book of poems which created such an amazing stir. But somehow, it got whispered about that the King had attempted to ‘patronise’ the poet, and that the poet had very indignantly resented the offered Royal condescension. Whereat, by degrees, there arose in society circles a murmur of wonder at the poet’s ‘pluck,’ wonder that deepened into admiration, with incessant demand for his book, — and admiration soon expanded, with the aid of the book, into a complete “craze.” Zouche’s name was on every lip; invitations to great houses reached him every week; — his poems began to sell by thousands; yet with all this, the obstinacy of his erratic nature asserted itself as usual, undiminished, and Zouche withdrew from the shower of praise like a snail into its shell, — answered none of the flattering requests for ‘the pleasure of his company,’ and handed whatever money he made by his poems over to the funds of the Revolutionary Committee, only accepting as much out of it as would pay for his clothes, food, lodging, and — drink! But the more he turned his back on Fame, the more hotly it pursued him; — his very churlishness was talked about as something remarkable and admirable, — and when it was suggested that he was fonder of strong liquor than was altogether seemly, people smiled and nodded at each other pleasantly, tapped their foreheads meaningly and murmured: ‘Genius! Genius!’ as though that were a quality allied of divine necessity to alcoholism.
These two things, — the advent of a new dancer at the Opera, and the fame of Paul Zouche, were the chief topics of ‘Society’ outside its own tawdry personal concern; but under all the light froth and spume of the pleasure-seeking, pleasure-loving whirl of fashion, a fierce tempest was rising, and the first whistlings of the wind of revolt were already beginning to pierce through the keyholes and crannies of the stately building allotted to the business of Government; — so much so indeed that one terrible night, all unexpectedly, a huge mob, some twenty thousand strong, surrounded it, armed with every conceivable weapon from muskets to pickaxes, and shouted with horrid din for ‘Bread and Justice!’ — these being considered co-equal in the bewildered mind of the excited multitude. Likewise did they scream with protrusive energy: ‘Give us back our lost Trades!’ being fully aware, despite their delirium, that these said ‘lost Trades’ were being sold off into ‘Trusts,’ wherein Ministers themselves held considerable shares, A two-sided clamour was also made for ‘The King! The King!’ one side appealing, the other menacing, — the latter under the belief that his Majesty equally had ‘shares’ in the bartered Trades, — the former in the hope that the country’s Honour might still be saved with the help of their visible Head.
Much difficulty was experienced in clearing this surging throng of indignant humanity, for though the soldiery were called out to effect the work, they were more than half-hearted in their business, having considerable grievances of their own to avenge, — and when ordered to fire on the people, flatly refused to do so. Two persons however succeeded at last in calming and quelling the tumult. One was Sergius Thord, — the other Lotys. Carl Pérousse, seized with an access of ‘nerves’ within the cushioned luxury of his own private room in the recesses of the Government buildings, from whence he had watched the demonstration, peered from one of the windows, and saw one half of the huge mob melt swiftly away under the command of a tall, majestic-looking creature, whose massive form and leonine head appeared Ajax-like above the throng; and he watched the other half turn round in brisk order, like a well-drilled army, and march off, singing loudly and lustily, headed by a woman carried shoulder-high before them, whose white robes gleamed like a flag of truce in the glare of the torches blazing around her; — and to his utter amazement, fear and disgust, he heard the very soldiers shouting her name: “Lotys! Lotys!” with ever-increasing and thunderous plaudits of admiration and homage. Often and often had he heard that name, — often and often had he dismissed it from his thoughts with light masculine contempt. Often, too, had it come to the ears of his colleague the Premier, who as has been shown, even in intimate converse with his own private secretary, feigned complete ignorance of it. But it is well understood that politicians generally, and diplomatists always, assume to have no knowledge whatever concerning those persons of whom they are most afraid. Yet just now it was unpleasantly possible that “the stone which the builders rejected” might indirectly be the means of crushing the Ministry, and reorganizing the affairs of the country. His meditations on this occasion were interrupted by a touch on the shoulder from behind, and, looking up, he saw the Marquis de Lutera.
“Almost a riot!” he said, forcing a pale smile,— “But not quite!”
“Say, rather, almost a revolution!” retorted the Marquis brusquely;— “Jesting is out of place. We are on the brink of a very serious disaster! The people are roused. To-night they threatened to burn down these buildings over our heads, — to sack and destroy the King’s Palace. The Socialist leader, Thord, alone saved the situation.”
“With the aid of his mistress?” suggested Pérousse with a sneer.
“You mean the woman they call Lotys? I am not aware that she is his mistress. I should rather doubt it. The people would not make such a saint of her if she were. At any rate, whatever else she may be, she is certainly dangerous; — and in a country less free than ours would be placed under arrest. I must confess I never believed in her ‘vogue’ with the masses, until to-night.”
Pérousse was silent. The great square in front of the Government buildings was now deserted, — save for the police and soldiery on guard; but away in the distance could still be heard faint echoes of singing and cheering from the broken-up sections of the crowd that had lately disturbed the peace.
“Have you seen the King lately?” enquired Lutera presently.
“No.”
“By his absolute ‘veto’ against our propositions at the last Cabinet Council, the impending war which would have been so useful to us, has been quashed in embryo,” went on the Premier with a frown;— “This of course you know! And he has the right to exercise his veto if he likes. But I scarcely expected you after all you said, to take the matter so easily!”
Pérousse smiled, and shrugged his shoulders deprecatingly.
“However,” continued the Marquis with latent contempt in his tone;— “I now quite understand your complacent attitude! You have simply turned your ‘Army Supplies Contract’ into a ‘Trust’ Combine with other nations, — so you will not lose, but rather gain by the transaction!”
“I never intended to lose!” said Pérousse calmly; “I am not troubled with scruples. One form of trade is as good as another. The prime object of life nowadays is to make money!”
Lutera looked at him, but said nothing.
“To amalgamate all the steel industries into one international Union, and get as many shares myself in the combine is not at all an unwise project,” went on Pérousse,— “For if our country is not to fight, other countries will; — and they will require guns and swords and all such accoutrements of war. Why should we not satisfy the demand and pocket the cash?”
Still the Marquis looked at him steadily.
“Are you aware,” — he asked at last, “that Jost, to save his ‘press’ prestige, has turned informer against you?”
Pérousse sprang up, white with fury.
“By Heaven, if he has dared!—”
“There is no ‘if’ in the case” — said Lutera very coldly— “He has, as he himself says, ‘done his duty.’ You must be pretty well cognisant of what a Jew’s notions of ‘duty’ are! They can be summed up in one sentence;— ‘to save his own pocket.’ Jost is driven to fury and desperation by the sudden success of the rival newspaper, which has been so prominen
tly favoured by the King. The shares in his own journalistic concerns are going down rapidly, and he is determined — naturally enough — to take care of himself before anyone else. He has sold out of every company with which you have been, or are associated — and has — so I understand, — sent a complete list of your proposed financial ‘deals,’ investments and other ‘stock’ to—”
He paused.
“Well!” exclaimed Pérousse irascibly— “To whom?”
“To those whom it may concern,” — replied Lutera evasively— “I really can give you no exact information. I have said enough by way of warning!”
Pérousse looked at him heedfully, and what he saw in that dark brooding face was not of a quieting or satisfactory nature.
“You are as deeply involved as I am—” he began.
“Pardon!” and the Marquis drew himself up with some dignity— “I was involved; — I am not now. I have also taken care of myself! I may have been misled, but I shall let no one suffer for my errors. I have sent in my resignation.”
“Fool!” ejaculated Pérousse, forgetting all courtesy in the sudden access of rage that took possession of him at these words;— “Fool, I say! At the very moment when you ought to stick to the ship, you desert it!”
“Are you not ready to run to the helm?” enquired Lutera with a satiric smile; “Surely you can have no doubt but that his Majesty will command you to take office!”
With this, he turned on his heel, and left his colleague to a space of very disagreeable meditation. For the first time in his bold and unscrupulous career, Pérousse found himself in an awkward position. If it were indeed true that Jost and Lutera had thrown up the game, especially Jost, then he, Pérousse, was lost. He had made of Jost, not only a tool, but a confidant. He had used him, and his great leading newspaper for his own political and financial purposes. He had entrusted him with State secrets, in order to speculate thereon in all the money-markets of the world. He had induced him to approach the Premier with crafty promises of support, and to inveigle him by insidious degrees into the same dishonourable financial ‘deal.’ So that if this one man, — this fat, unscrupulous turncoat of a Jew, — chose to speak out, he, Carl Pérousse, Secretary of State, would be the most disgraced and ruined Minister that ever attempted to defraud a nation! His brows grew moist with fever-heat, and his tongue parched, with the dry thirst of fear, as the gravity of the situation was gradually borne in upon him. He began to calculate contingencies and possibilities of escape from the toils that seemed closing around him, — and much to his irritation and embarrassment, he found that most of the ways leading out of difficulty pointed first of all to, — the King.
The King! The very personage whom he had called a Dummy, only bound to do as he was told! And now, if he could only persuade the King that he, — the poor Secretary of State, — was a deeply-injured man, whose life’s effort had been solely directed towards ‘the good of the country,’ yet who nevertheless was cruelly wronged and calumniated by his enemies, all might yet be well.
“Were he only like other monarchs whom I know,” he reflected. “I could have easily involved him in the Trades deal! Then the press could have been silenced, and the public fooled. With five or six hundred thousand shares in the biggest concerns, he would have been compelled to work under me for the amalgamation of our Trades with the financial forces of other countries, regardless of the rubbish talked by ‘patriots’ on the loss of our position and prestige. But he is not fond of money, — he is not fond of money! Would that he were! — for so I should be virtually king of the King!”
Cogitating various problems on his return to his own house that evening, he remembered that despite numerous protests and petitions, the King had, up to the present, paid no attention to the appeals of his people against the increasing inroads of taxation. The only two measures he had carried with a high and imperative hand, were first, — the ‘vetoing’ of an intended declaration of war, — and the refusal of extensive lands to the Jesuits. The first was the more important action, as, while it had won the gratitude and friendship of a previously hostile State, it had lost several ‘noble’ gamblers in the griefs of nations, some millions of money. The check to the Jesuits was comparatively trivial, yet it had already produced far-reaching effects, and had offended the powers at the Vatican. But, beyond this, things remained apparently as they were; true, the Socialists were growing stronger; — but there was no evidence that the Government was growing weaker.
“After all,” thought Pérousse, as a result of his meditations; “there is no immediate cause for anxiety. If Lutera has sent in his resignation, it may not be accepted. That rests — like other things — with the King.” And a vague surprise affected him at this fact. “Curious!” he muttered,— “Very curious that he, who was a Nothing, should now be a Something! The change has taken place very rapidly, — and very strangely! I wonder what — or who — is moving him?”
But to this inward query he received no satisfactory reply. The mysterious upshot of the whole position was the same, — namely, that somehow, in the most unaccountable, inexplicable manner, the wind and weather of affairs had so veered round, that the security of Ministers and the stability of Government rested, not with themselves or the nature of their quarrels and discussions, but solely on one whom they were accustomed to consider as a mere ornamental figure-head, — the King.
Some few days after the unexpected turbulent rising of the mob, it was judged advisable to give the people something in the way of a ‘gala,’ or spectacle, in order to distract their attention from their own grievances, and to draw them away from their Socialistic clubs and conventions, to the contemplation of a parade of Royal state and splendour. The careful student of History cannot fail to note that whenever the rottenness and inadequacy of a Government are most apparent, great ‘shows’ and Royal ceremonials are always resorted to, in order to divert the minds of the people from the bitter consideration of a deficient Exchequer and a diminishing National Honour. The authorities who organize these State masquerades are wise in their generation. They know that the working-classes very seldom have the leisure to think for themselves, and that they often lack the intelligent ability to foresee the difficulties and dangers menacing their country’s welfare; — but that they are always ready, with the strangest fatuity, patience, and good-nature, to take their wives and families to see any new variation of a world’s ‘Punch and Judy’ play, particularly if there is a savour of Royalty about it, accompanied by a brass band, well-equipped soldiers, and gilded coaches. Though they take no part in the pageant, beyond consenting to be hustled and rudely driven back by the police like intrusive sheep, out of the sacred way of a Royal progress, they nevertheless have an instinctive (and very correct) idea that somehow or other it is all part of the ‘fun’ for which they have paid their money. There is no more actual reverence or respect for the positive Person of Royalty in such a parade, than there is for the Wonderful Performing Pig who takes part in a circus-procession through a country town. The public impression is simple, — That having to pay for the up-keep of a Throne, its splendours should be occasionally ‘trotted out’ to see whether they are worth the nation’s annual expenditure.
Moved entirely by this plain and practical sentiment, the popular breast was thrilled with some amount of interest and animation when it was announced that his Majesty the King would, on a certain afternoon, go in state to lay the foundation-stone of the Grand National Theatre, which was the very latest pet project of various cogitating Jews and cautious millionaires. The Grand National Theatre was intended to ‘supply,’ according to a stock newspaper phrase, ‘a long-felt want.’ It was to be a ‘philanthropic’ scheme, by which the ‘Philanthropists’ would receive excellent interest for their money. Ostensibly, it was to provide the ‘masses’ with the highest form of dramatic entertainment at the lowest cost; — but there were many intricate wheels within wheels in the elaborate piece of stock-jobbing mechanism, by which the public would be caugh
t and fooled — as usual — and the speculators therein rendered triumphant. Sufficient funds were at hand to start the building of the necessary edifice, and the King’s ‘gracious’ consent to lay the first stone, with full state and ceremony, was hailed by the promoters of the plan as of the happiest augury. For with such approval and support openly given, all the Snob-world would follow the Royal ‘lead’ — quite as infallibly as it did in the case of another monarch who, persuaded to drink of a certain mineral spring, and likewise to ‘take shares’ in its bottled waters, turned the said spring into a ‘paying concern’ at once, thereby causing much rejoicing among the Semites. The ‘mob’ might certainly decline to imitate the Snob-world, — but, considering the recent riotous outbreak, it might be as well that the overbold and unwashen populace should be awed by the panoply and glory of earthly Majesty passing by in earthly splendour.
Alas, poor Snob-world! How often has it thought the same thing! How often has it fancied that with show and glitter and brazen ostentation of mere purse-power, it can quell the rage for Justice, which, like a spark of God’s own eternal Being, burns for ever in the soul of a People! Ah, that rage for Justice! — that divine fury and fever which with strong sweating and delirium shakes the body politic and cleanses it from accumulated sickly humours and pestilence! What would the nations be without its periodical and merciful visitations! Tearing down old hypocrisies, — rooting up weedy abuses, — rending asunder rotten conventions, — what wonder if thrones and sceptres, and even the heads of kings get sometimes mixed into the general swift clearance of long-accumulated dirt and disorder! And vainly at such times does the Snob-world anxiously proffer golden pieces for the price of its life! There shall not then be millions enough in all the earth, to purchase the safety of one proved Liar who has wilfully robbed his neighbour!
Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli (Illustrated) (Delphi Series Eight Book 22) Page 560
