Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli (Illustrated) (Delphi Series Eight Book 22)

by Marie Corelli

  He was answered by a strenuous cheer; and then the three great sections of the multitude began to move. Out of the square in perfect order they marched, — still singing; one huge mass of people being headed by Pasquin Leroy, the other by Johan Zegota, — the third by Sergius Thord himself. The soldiery, seeing there was no cause for interference, withdrew, — the police dispersed, and once again an outbreak of popular disorder was checked and for a time withheld.

  But this second riot had startled the metropolis in good earnest. Everyone became fully alive to the danger and increasing force of the disaffected community, — and the Government, — lately grown inert and dilatory in the transaction of business, — began seriously to consider ways and means of pacifying general clamour and public dissatisfaction. None of the members of the Cabinet were much surprised, therefore, when they each received a summons from the King to wait upon him at the Palace that day week,— ‘to discuss affairs of national urgency,’ and the general impression appeared to be, that though Carl Pérousse dismissed the ‘street rowdyism,’ as he called it, with contempt, and spoke of ‘disloyal traitors opposed to the Government,’ he was nevertheless riding for a fall; and that his chances of obtaining the Premiership were scarcely so sure as they had hitherto seemed.

  Meanwhile, Pequita, whose childish rage against the King for not noticing her dancing or applauding it, had been the trifling cause of the sudden volcanic eruption of the public mind, became more than ever the idol of the hour. The night after the riot, the Opera-house was crowded to suffocation, — and the stage was covered with flowers. Among the countless bouquets offered to the triumphant little dancer, came one which was not thrown from the audience, but was brought to her by a messenger; it was a great cluster of scarlet carnations, and attached to it was a tiny velvet case, containing the ring promised to her by Pasquin Leroy, when, as he had said, she ‘should dance before the King.’ A small card accompanied it on which was written ‘Pequita, from Pasquin!’ Turning to Lotys, who, in the event of further turbulence, had accompanied her to the Opera that night to take care of her, and who sat grave, pale, and thoughtful, in one of the dressing-rooms near the stage, the child eagerly showed her the jewel, exclaiming:

  “See! He has kept his promise!”

  And Lotys, — sighing even while she smiled, — answered:

  “Yes, dear! He would not be the brave man he is, if he ever broke his word!”

  Whereat Pequita slipped the ring on her friend’s finger, kissing her and whispering:

  “Take care of it for me! Wear it for me! For tonight, at least!”

  Lotys assented, — though with a little reluctance, — and it was only while Pequita was away from her, performing her part on the stage, that this strange lonely woman bent her face down on the hand adorned with the star-like gem and kissed it, — tears standing in her eyes as she murmured:

  “My love — my love! If you only knew!”

  And then the hot colour surged into her cheeks for sheer shame of herself that she should love! — she — no longer in her youth, — and utterly unconscious that there was, or could be any beauty in her deep lustrous eyes, white skin, and dull gold hair. What had she to do with the thoughts of passion? — she whose life was devoted to the sick and needy, — and who had no right to think of anything else but how she should aid them best, so long as that life should last! She knew well enough that love of a great, jealous, and almost savage kind, was hers if she chose to claim it — the love of Sergius Thord, who worshipped her both as a woman and an Intellect; but she could not contemplate him as her lover, having grown up to consider him more as a sort of paternal guardian and friend. In fact, she had thoroughly resigned herself to think of nothing but work for the remainder of her days, and to entirely forego the love and tenderness which most women, even the poorest, have the natural right to win; and now slowly, — almost unconsciously to herself, — Love had stolen into her soul and taken possession of it; — secret love for the man, who brave almost to recklessness, had joined his fortunes in with Sergius Thord and his companions, and had assisted the work of pushing matters so far forward, that the wrongs done to the poor, and the numerous injustices of the law, which for years had been accumulating, and had become part and parcel of the governing system of the country, now stood a fair chance of being remedied. She, with her quick woman’s instinct, had perceived that where Sergius Thord, in his dreamy idealism, halted and was uncertain of results, Pasquin Leroy stepped into the breach and won the victory. And, like all courageous women, she admired a courageous man. Not that Thord lacked courage, — he had plenty of the physical brute force known as such, — but he had also a peculiar and uncomfortable quality of rousing desires, both in himself and others which he had not the means of gratifying.

  Thus Lotys foresaw that, unless by some miraculous chance he obtained both place and power, and a share in the ruling of things, there was every possibility of a split in the Revolutionary Committee, — one half being inclined to indulge in the criminal and wholly wasteful spirit of Anarchy, — the other disposed to throw in its lot with the Liberal or Radical side of politics. And she began to regard Pasquin Leroy, with his even temperament, cool imperturbability, intellectual daring, and literary ability, as the link which kept them all together, and gave practical force to the often brooding and fantastic day-dreams of Thord, who, though he made plans night and day for the greater freedom and relief of the People from unjust coercion, had not succeeded in obtaining as yet sufficient power to carry them into execution.

  It was evident, however, to the whole country that the times were in a ferment, — that the Government was growing more unpopular, and that Carl Pérousse, the chief hinge on which Governmental force turned, was under a cloud of the gravest suspicion. Meetings, more or less stormy in character, were held everywhere by every shade of party in politics, — and strong protests against his being nominated as Premier were daily sent to the King. But to the surprise of many, and the annoyance of most, his Majesty gave no sign. The newspapers burst into rampant argument, — every little editor issued his Jovian ‘opinion’ on the grave issues at stake; — David Jost kept his Hebraic colours flying for the King, — judging that to flatter Royalty was always a safe course for most Jews; — while in the rival journal, brilliant essays, leaders and satires on the political situation, combined with point-blank accusations against the Secretary of State, (which that distinguished personage always failed to notice,) flew from the pen of the mysterious writer, Pasquin Leroy, and occupied constant public attention. Unlike the realm of Britain, — where the ‘golden youth’ enfeeble their intellects by the perusal of such poor and slangy journalism that they have lost both the art and wit to comprehend brilliant political writing, — the inhabitants of this particular corner of the sunny south were always ready to worship genius wherever even the smallest glimmer of it appeared, — and the admiration Leroy’s writings excited was fast becoming universal, though for the most part these writings were extremely inflammable in nature, and rated both King and Court soundly. But with the usual indifference of Royalty to ‘genius’ generally, the King, when asked if he had taken note of certain articles dealing very freely with both him and his social conduct, declared he had never heard of them, or of their writer!

  “I never,” he said with an odd smile, “pay any attention to clever literature! I should be establishing a precedent which would be inconvenient and disagreeable to my fellow sovereigns!”

  The time went on; the King met his Ministers on the day he had summoned them in private council, — and on the other hand Sergius Thord convened a mighty mass-meeting for the purpose of carrying a resolution formed to address his Majesty on the impending question of the Premiership. From the King’s council, the heads of Government came away in haste, despair and confusion; from the mass-meeting whole regiments marched through the streets in triumphant and satisfied order.

  After these events there came a night, when the sweet progress of calm weather was broken u
p by cloud and storm, — and when heavy thunder boomed over the city at long dull intervals, like the grinding and pounding of artillery, without any rain to cool the heated ether, which was now and again torn asunder by flashes of lightning. There was evidently a raging tempest far out at sea, though the land only received suggestions of this by the occasional rearing up of huge dark green billows which broke against the tall cliffs, plumed with mimosa and myrtle, that guarded the coast. Heavy scents of flowers were in the air — heavy heat weighed down the atmosphere, — and there was a languor in the slow footsteps of the men, who, singly, or in groups, arrived at the door of Sergius Thord’s house to fulfil the dread compact binding upon them all in regard to the ‘Day of Fate.’ Pasquin Leroy and his two companions were among the first to arrive, and to make their way up the dark steep stairs to the Committee room, where, when they entered, they found the usual aspect of things strangely altered. The table no longer occupied its position in the middle of the floor; it was set on a raised platform entirely draped with black. Large candelabra, holding six lights each, occupied either end, — and in the centre one solitary red lamp was placed, shedding its flare over a large bronze vessel shaped like a funeral urn. The rest of the room was in darkness, — and with the gathering groups of men, who moved silently and spoke in whispers, it presented a solemn and eerie spectacle.

  “Ah! You have now arrived,” said Max Graub, in a cautious sotto voce to Leroy, “at the end of your adventures! Behold the number Thirteen! Six lights at one end, six lights at the other, — that is twelve; and in the centre the Thirteenth — the red Eye looking into the sepulchral urn! It is all up with us!”

  Leroy said nothing, — but the face of the man called Axel Regor grew suddenly very pale. He drew Leroy a little aside.

  “This is no laughing matter!” he said very earnestly; “Let me stand near you — let me keep close at your side all the evening!”

  Leroy smiled and pressed his hand.

  “My dear fellow!” he said; “Have no fear! Or if you have fear, do not show it! You stand in precisely the same danger as myself, or as any of us; you may draw the fatal Signal! — but if you do, I promise you I will volunteer myself in your place.”

  “You!” said Regor with a volume of meaning in the utterance; “You would stand in my place?”

  “Why, of course!” replied Leroy cheerily; “Life is not such a wonderful business, that death for a friend’s sake is not better!”

  Regor looked at him, and a speechless devotion filled and softened his eyes. Certain words spoken to him by a woman he loved echoed through his brain, and he murmured:

  “Nay, by the God above us, if death is in question, I will die rather than let you die!”

  “That will depend on my humour!” said Leroy, still smiling; “You will require my permission to enter into combat with the last enemy before he offers challenge!”

  Max Graub here approached them with a warning finger laid on his lips.

  “Hush — sh — sh!” he said; “Think as much as you like, — but talk as little as you can! I assure you this is a most uncomfortable business! — and here comes the axis of the revolving wheel!”

  They made way, — as did all the men grouped together in the room, — for the entrance of Sergius Thord and Lotys. These two came in together; and with a silent salute which included the whole Committee, ascended the raised platform. Lotys was deadly pale; and the white dress she wore, with its scarlet sash, accentuated that paleness. She appeared for once to move under the dominance of some greater will than her own, — she moved slowly, and her head was bent, — and even to Pasquin Leroy as she passed him, her faint smile of recognition was both sad and cold. Once on the platform, she seated herself at the lower end of the funereally-draped table; and leaning her head on one hand, seemed lost in thought. Thord took his place at the opposite end, — whereupon Johan Zegota moving stealthily to the door, closed it, locked it, and put the key in his pocket. Then he in turn mounted the platform, and began in a clear but low voice to call the roll of the members of the Committee.

  Each man answered to his name in the same guarded tone; all without a single exception were present; — and Zegota, having completed the catalogue, turned to Thord for further instructions. The rest of the company then seated themselves, — finding their chairs with some little difficulty in the semi-darkness. When the noise of their shuffling feet had ceased, Thord rose and advanced to the front of the platform.

  “Friends,” he said slowly; “You are here to-night to determine by the hand of Chance, or Destiny, which of certain traitors among many thousands, shall meet with the punishment his treachery deserves. In the list of those who are to-night marked down for death is Carl Pérousse; — happy the man that draws that name and is able to serve as the liberator to his country! Another, is the Jew, David Jost, — because it has been chiefly at his persuasion that the heads of the Government have been tempted to gamble for their own personal motives with the secrets of State policy. Another, is the Marquis de Lutera; — who though he has, possibly through fear, resigned office, is to blame for having made his own private fortune, — as well as the fortunes of all the members of his family, — out of the injuries and taxations inflicted on the People. To his suggestion we owe the cruel price of bread, — the tax on corn, a necessity of life; — on his policy rests the responsibility of opening our Trades to such an over-excess of Foreign Competition and Supply that our native work and our native interests are paralysed by the strain. To him, — as well as to Carl Pérousse, we owe the ridiculous urbanities of such extreme foreign diplomacies as expose our secret forces of war to our rivals; — from him emanates the courteous and almost servile attention with which we foolishly exhibit our naval and military defences to our enemies. We assume that a Minister who graciously permits a foreign arsenal to copy our guns — a foreign dockyard to copy and to emulate our ships, — is a traitor to the prosperity and continued power of the country. Two of the great leaders in Trade are named on the Death-list; — one because, in spite of many warnings, he employs foreign workmen only; the other, because he ‘sweats’ native labour. The removal of all these persons will be a boon to the country — the clearing of a plague of rats from the national House and Exchequer! Lastly, the King is named; — because, — though he has rescued the system of National Education from Jesuit interference and threatening priestly dominance, he has turned a deaf ear to other equally pressing petitions of his People, — and also because he does nothing to either influence or guide society to its best and highest ends. Under his rule, learning is set at naught — Art, Science and Literature, the three saving graces which make for the peace, prosperity and fraternity of nations, — are rendered valueless, because no example is set which would give them their rightful prominence, — and wine, cards and women are substituted, — the three evil fates between which the honour of the Throne is brought into contempt. We should know and remember that Lotys, when she lately saved the life of the King, did, — as she herself can tell you, — plead personally with him to save the people from the despotic government of Carl Pérousse and his pernicious ‘majority’; — but though she rescued the monarch at the risk of her own much more valuable existence — and equally at the risk of being misunderstood and condemned by this very Society to which her heart and soul are pledged, — he refused to even consider her entreaty. Therefore, we may be satisfied that he has been warned; — but it would seem that the warning is of no avail; — and whosoever to-night draws the name of the King must be swift and sure in his business!”

  There was a deep pause. Suddenly Max Graub rose, his bulky form and great height giving him an almost Titanesque appearance in the gloom of the chamber. Raising one hand as a signal, he asked permission to speak, which was instantly accorded.

  “To my chief, Sergius Thord, and my comrades,” he said with a slight military salutation; “I wish to explain what perhaps they have already discovered, — that I am a poor and uncouth German, — not altogether c
onversant with your language, — and considerably bewildered by your social ethics; — so that if I do not entirely understand things as I should, you will perhaps pardon my ignorance, which includes other drawbacks of my disposition. But when death is in question, I am always much interested, — having spent all my days in trying to find out ways and means of combating man’s chief enemy on his own ground. Because, — though I fully admit the usefulness of death as a cleanser and solvent; and as a means of clearing off hopelessly-useless persons, I am not at all sure that it is an advisable way to get rid of the healthy and the promising. I speak as a physician merely, — with an eye to what is called the ‘stock’ of the human race; and what I now want to know is this: On what scientific, ethical, or religious grounds, do you wish to get rid of the King? Science, ethics, and religion being only in the present day so many forms of carefully ministering to one’s Self, and one’s own particular humour, you will understand that I mean, — as concerns the ‘happy dispatch’ of this same King, — what good will it do to you?”

  There was a silence. No one vouchsafed any explanation. After a considerable pause, Thord replied.

  “It will do us no good. But it will show the country that we exist to revenge injustice!”

  “But — is the King unjust?”

  “Can you ask it?” replied Thord with a certain grave patience. “During your association with us, have you not learned? — and do you not know?”

  “Sit down, Graub!” interrupted Pasquin Leroy suddenly; “I know the King’s ways well enough, — and I can swear upon my honour that he deserves the worst that can be done to him!”

  A murmur of sullen approval ran through the room, and somewhat lowering glances were cast at the audacious Graub, who had, by his few words, created the very undesirable impression that he wished, in some remote way, to interfere with the Committee solemnities in progress, and to defend the King from attack. He sat down again looking more or less crushed and baffled, — and Thord went on.