A mighty shout answered him.
“To the death!”
He turned to Thord.
“Sergius,” he said, “my task is finished — my confession made! The next Order of this meeting must come from you!”
Thord looked at him amazedly.
“From me? Are you not the King?”
“Only so long as the People desire it!” replied the monarch gently; “And are you not the representative of the People?”
Thord’s chest heaved. Burning tears stood in his eyes. The strangeness of the situation — the deliberate coolness and resolve with which this sovereign ruler of a powerful kingdom laid his life trustingly in his hands, was too much for his nerve.
“Lotys!” he said huskily; “Lotys!”
She rose at once and came to him, moving ghostlike in her white draperies, her eyes shining — her lips tremulous.
“Lotys,” he said, “The King is in our hands! You saved his life once — will you save it again?”
She raised her bent head, and the old courageous light flashed in her face, transfiguring its every feature.
“It is not for me to save!” she replied in clear firm tones; “It is for you — and for all of us, — to defend!”
A ringing cheer answered her. Sergius Thord slowly advanced, and as he did so, the King, seeing his movement frankly held out his hand. For a moment the Socialist Chief hesitated — then suddenly yielding to his overpowering impulse, caught that hand and raised his dark eyes full to the monarch’s face.
“You have conquered me!” he said, “But only by your qualities as a man — not by your authority as a king! You have won my honour — my respect — my gratitude — my friendship — and with these, so long as you are faithful to our Cause, take my allegiance! More I cannot say — more I will not promise!”
“I need no more!” responded the King cheerily, enclosing his hand in a warm clasp. “We are friends and fellow-workers, Sergius! — we can never be rivals!”
As he spoke, his glance fell on Lotys. She shrank from the swift passion of his gaze, — and her eyelids drooped half-swooningly over the bright star-windows of her own too ardent soul. Abruptly turning from both her and Thord, the King again addressed the company:
“One word more, my friends! It is arranged that you, with all your thousands of the People are to convene together in one great multitude, and march to the Palace to demand justice from the King. There is now no need to do this, — for the King himself is one of you! — the King only lives and reigns that justice in all respects may be done! I will therefore ask you to change your plan; — and instead of marching to the Palace, march with me to the House of Government. You would have demanded justice from the King; the King himself will go with you to demand justice for the People!”
A wild shout answered him; and he knew as he looked on the faces of his hearers that he had them all in his power as the servants of his will.
“And now, gentlemen,” he proceeded; “I should perhaps make some excuses for my two friends, known to you as Max Graub and Axel Regor. I told you I would be responsible for their conduct, and, so far as they have been permitted to go, they have behaved well! I must, however, in justice to them, assure you that whereas I became a member of your Committee gladly, they followed my example reluctantly, and only out of fidelity and obedience to me. They have lived in the shadow of the Throne, — and have learned to pity, — and I think, — to love its occupant! Because they know, — as you have never known, — the heavy burden which a king puts on with his crown! They have, however, in their way, served you under my orders, and under my orders will continue to serve you still. Max Graub, or, to give him his right name, Heinrich von Glauben, has a high reputation in this country for his learning, apart from his position as Household Physician to our Court; — Axel Regor is my very good friend Sir Roger de Launay, who is amiable enough to support the monotony of his duty as one of my equerries in waiting. Now you know us as we are! But after all, nothing is changed, save our names and the titles we bear; we are the same men, the same friends, the same comrades! — and so I trust we shall remain!”
The cheering broke out again, and Sir Roger de Launay, who was quite as overwhelmed with astonishment at the courage and coolness of his Royal master as any Revolutionist present, joined in it with a will, as did Von Glauben.
“One favour I have to ask of you,” proceeded the King, “and it is this: If you exempt me to-night from killing the King;” and he smiled,— “you must also exempt all the members of the Revolutionary Committee from any similar task allotted to them by having drawn the fatal Signal! Our friend, Zouche, for instance, has drawn the name of Carl Pérousse. Now I want Zouche for better work than that of killing a rascal!”
Loud cheers answered him, and Zouche rising from his place advanced a little.
“Majesty!” he cried, “You are right! I hand your Majesty’s intended Premier over to you with the greatest, pleasure in the world! Apart from the fact of your being the King, I am compelled to admit that you have common sense!”
Laughter and cheers resounded through the room again, and the King quietly turning round, extinguished the red lamp on the table. The thirteenth light was quenched; the Day of Fate was ended. As the ominous crimson flare sank out, a sudden silence prevailed, and the King fixed his eyes on Lotys.
“From you, Madame, must come my final exoneration! If you still condemn me as a King, I shall be indeed unfortunate! If you still think well of me as a man, I shall be proud! I have to thank you, not only for my life, but for having helped me to make that life valuable! As Pasquin Leroy, I have sought to serve you, — as King, I seek to serve you still!”
The silence continued. Every man present watched the visible emotion which swept every vestige of colour from the face of Lotys, and made her eyes so feverishly bright. Every man gazed at her as she rose from her chair and came forward a little to the front of the platform. It was with a strong effort that she raised her eyes to those of the King, and in that one glance between them, the lightning flash of a resistless love tore the veil of secrecy from their souls. But she spoke out bravely.
“I thank your Majesty!” she said; “I thank you for all you have done for us as our comrade and associate, — for all you will yet do for us as our comrade and associate still! It is better to be a brave man than a weak King — but it is best to be a strong man and a strong king both together! You have disproved the thoughts I had of you as King! You have ratified—” here she paused, while the colour suddenly sprang to her cheeks, and her breath came pantingly and quick,— “and strengthened the thoughts I had of you as our Pasquin!” Her eyes softened with tears, though she smiled. “We have believed in you; we believe in you still! All is as it was, — save in the one thing new, — that where we were banded together against the King, we are now united for, and with the King!”
These words were all that were needed to reawaken and confirm the enthusiasm of the Revolutionists, whose ‘revolutionary’ measures were now accepted and sworn to by the Crowned Head of the Realm. Thereupon, they gave themselves up to the wildest cheering.
“Comrades!” cried Paul Zouche, in the midst of the uproar; “There is one point you seem to have missed! The King, — God bless him! — doesn’t see it, — Thord, glowering like an owl in his ivy-bush of hair, doesn’t see it! It is only left to me to perceive the chief result of this evening’s disclosures!”
All the men laughed.
“What is it, Zouche?” demanded Louis Valdor.
“Ay! What is it?” echoed Zegota.
“Speak, Zouche!” said the King; “Whatever strange conclusion your poetic brain discovers, doubt not but that we shall accept it, — from!”
“Accept it? I should think so!” cried Zouche; “You are bound to accept it whether you like it or not; there is no other way out of it!”
“Well, what is it?” repeated Zegota impatiently; “Declare it!”
“It is this;” said Zouche, “Simply this
, — that, with the King as our comrade and associate, the Revolutionary Committee is no use! It is finished! There can be no longer a Revolutionary Committee!”
“That is true!” said the King; “It may henceforth be known as a new Parliament!”
Cheer after cheer echoed through the crowded room, and while the noise was at its height a knocking was heard outside and Sholto, the hunchback father of Pequita, demanded admittance. Zegota unlocked the door, and in a few minutes the situation was explained to the astonished landlord of the Revolutionary Committee quarters. Overwhelmed at the news, and full of gratitude for the kindness shown to his child, which he now knew had emanated from the King in person, he would have knelt to kiss the Royal hand, had not the monarch prevented him.
“No, my good Sholto!” he said gently; “Enough of such humility wearies me in the monotonous routine of Court life; and were it not for custom and prejudice, I would suffer no self-respecting man to abase himself before me, simply because my profession is that of King! Tell Pequita that I would not look at her, or applaud her dancing the other night, because I wished her to hate the King and to love Pasquin! — but now you must ask her for me, to love them both!”
Sholto bowed low, profoundly overcome. Was this the King against whom they had all been in league? — this simple, unaffected man, who seemed so much at home and at one with them all? Amazed and bewildered, he, by general invitation, mixed with the rest of the men, for each of whom the King had a kind and appreciative word, or a fresh pledge of his good faith and intention towards them and the reforms they sought to effect. Von Glauben was surrounded by a group of those among whom he had made himself popular; and a hundred eager questions were asked of both him and De Launay, who were ready enough to eulogise the daring of their Royal master, and the determination with which he had resolved on making his secret foes his open friends.
“After all,” said Zegota deprecatingly, “it is not so much the King whom we were against, as the Government.”
“Ah! You forget, no doubt,” said Von Glauben, “that the King — any King — is usually a Dummy in the hands of Government, unless, as in the present instance, he chooses to become a living Personality for himself!”
“The King has created an autocracy!” said Louis Valdor; “and it will last for his lifetime. But after —— !”
“After him, — if his eldest son, Prince Humphry, comes to the Throne, — the autocracy will be continued;” said Von Glauben decisively; “For he is a young man who is singularly fond of having his own way!”
The conversation now became general; and the big, bare, common room assumed in a few minutes almost the aspect of a Royal levée. This was curious enough, — and furnished food for meditation to Professor von Glauben, who was considerably excited by the dramatic dénouement of the Day of Fate, — a climax for which neither he nor Sir Roger had been in the least prepared. He said something of it to Sir Roger who was watching Lotys.
“You look at the woman,” he said; “I look at the man! Do you think this drama is finished?”
“Not yet!” answered De Launay curtly; “Nor is the danger over!”
The hum of talk continued; and the good feeling of friendship and unity of the assemblage was intensified with every cordial handshake. When the time came to break up, someone suggested that a carriage should be sent for to convey the King and his two companions to the Palace. Whereat the monarch laughed aloud and right joyously.
“By my faith!” he exclaimed; “You, my friends, would actually pamper me already, by offering me a luxury which you yourselves do not propose to enjoy! Ah, my friends, here comes in the mischief of the monarchical system! What of your ‘Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity’? Do I ask to have anything different to yourselves? Can I not walk, even as you do? Have I not walked to, and from these meetings often? And even so, I purpose to walk now! If you are true Revolutionists — as I am — do not reverse your own theories! You complain, — and justly, — that a king is over-flattered; do not then flatter him yourselves by insisting on such convenience for him as he does not even demand at your hands!”
“You take us too literally, Sir,” said Louis Valdor; “Even Revolutionists owe respect to their chief!”
“Sergius Thord is your Chief, my friend!” replied the monarch; “And, from a Revolutionary point of view, mine! But you have never thought of sending him anywhere in a carriage! Ah! — what children we are! What slaves of convention! ‘Liberty, Equality and Fraternity’ have been the ideals of ages; — yet despite them, we are always ready to follow a Leader, — and form ourselves into one body under a Head!”
“Provided the Head has brains in it!” said Zouche. “But otherwise—”
“You cut it off!” laughed the monarch— “and quite right too!”
They now began to separate. The hunchback Sholto explained that it was long after midnight, and that he had already put out all the lights in the basement.
Whereupon the King, turning to Sergius Thord said: “Farewell for the moment, Sergius! Come to me at the Palace with the whole plan of the meeting you are now organising; I shall hold myself ready to fall in with your plans! Gather your thousands, and — leave the rest to me!”
Thord clasped his extended hand, — and was moved by a curious instinct to bend down low over it after the fashion of a courtier, but restrained himself almost by force. The men began to move; one after the other bade good-night to the King — then to Thord, and last to Lotys, who, drawing on her cloak, prepared to leave also.
“I will see you safely down the stairs,” said the King smilingly, to her. “It is not the first time I have done so! How now, Zouche?”
Paul Zouche stood before him, his eyes full of a strange mingled pathos and scorn.
“I have to thank your Majesty,” he said slowly, “for something I do not in the least value, — Fame! It has come too late! Had it been my portion three years ago, the woman I loved would have been proud of me, and I should have been happy! She is dead now — and nothing matters!”
The King was silent. There was something both solemn and pitiful about this wreck of manhood which was still kept alive by the fire of genius.
“With one word you might have saved me — and her!” he went on. “When you came to the Throne, — and all the wretched versifiers in the kingdom were scribbling twaddle in the way of ‘Coronation odes’ and medleys, I wrote ‘The Song of Freedom’ for your glory! All the people of the land know that song now! — but you might have known it then! For now it is too late! — too late to call her back; — too late to give me peace!”
He paused; — then — without another word — turned, and went out.
“Poor Zouche!” said the King gently; “I accept his reproach and understand it! He is right! The recognition of his genius is one of the thousand chances I have missed! But, as God lives, I will miss no more!”
A great quietude fell on the house as the Revolutionary Committee dispersed. The last to leave was the King, his two friends, and Lotys. Lotys declined all escort somewhat imperatively, refusing to allow Sergius Thord to see her to her own home.
“I must be alone!” she said; “Do you not understand! I want to think — I want to realise our change of position. I cannot talk to you, Sergius, — no — not till to-morrow — you must let me be!”
He drew back, chilled and hurt by her tone, but forbore to press his company on her. With another farewell to the King, he stood at the top of the long dark winding stair watching the group descend, — first Von Glauben, next De Launay, — thirdly, the King, — and lastly, Lotys.
“Good-night!” he called, as her white robes vanished in the gloom.
“Good-night!” she answered tremulously, as she disappeared.
And he, returning to the empty room, stared vacantly at the table draped with black, and the funeral urn set upon it, — stared at the empty chairs and bare walls, and listened as it were, to the midnight silence, — realising that he as Chief of the Revolutionary Committee, was no lo
nger a chief but a servant! — and that the power he sought — that power which he had endeavoured to attain in order that he might make of Lotys, as he had said, ‘a queen among women!’ was only to be won through, — the King! The King knew all his secret plans and his aims, — he held the clue to the whole network of his Revolutionary organisation, — and the only chance he now had of ever arriving at the highest goal of his ambition was in the King’s hands! Thus was he, — Socialist and Revolutionist, — made subject to the Throne; the very rules he had drawn up for himself and his Committee making it impossible that he could be otherwise than loyal, to a monarch who was at the same time his comrade!
Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli Page 573
