CHAPTER XXVI
A WALK IN THE GARDEN
In the last resort the issue lay with Sonia. Her husband had thewisdom to recognise that; although his own happiness was at stake, thematter was beyond the restricted sphere of the personal equation.
In the crisis of his fate it has always seemed to me that Fitzdisplayed the inherent nobility of his character. Once the King, withimmense force and cogency, had revealed the situation in its trueaspect, his son-in-law, without abating a single claim to his wife'sconsideration, yet refrained from unduly exercising the prerogativeconferred upon him by their spiritual affinity.
It was wise and right that Fitz should detach himself as far aspossible from the conflict that was being waged between father anddaughter. But, although he did what lay in his power to simplify theissue, he could not banish the image of himself from his wife's heart.He furnished the motive power of her existence. Emotion held themaster-key to her nature. In any conflict between love and duty, lovecould hardly fail to win.
Fitz suffered intensely as the struggle went on. He even threw out ahint to me that he might be tempted to take a certain step to help hiswife to a possible solution of the problem.
"The longer this goes on," he said to me in the small hours of themorning, "the more clearly I realise that Sonia's place is with her ownpeople. I have been blind, and I have been mad, and I owe it toFerdinand that I have been able to see myself in my true relation tothe issue in which fate has involved us. It is six years since I firstsaw Sonia on the terrace of the Castle at Blaenau. I was travellingabout the world trying to find ease for my soul. I knew that she wasunhappy, and she knew that I was, but we were young and not afraid. Wemet continually, for I had the _entree_ to the Castle as the grandsonof the Elector of Gracow, whose daughter married my grandfather, GeorgeFitzwaren of tragic memory.
"We used to sit out on the Castle terrace, Sonia and I, night afternight, watching the stars in their courses, while her father dragoonedhis parliament and hoodwinked his people. She was lonely, outcast andunloved; there was none to whom she could speak her thoughts; she wasoppressed with the sense of her destiny.
"She said that when she first met me she wondered where she had seen mebefore. She said that my presence haunted her like a half-rememberedvision, until it began to merge itself into her dreams of a formerexistence and a happier state. And as she said this, her voice grewstrangely familiar. For me it unlocked the doors of memory. It waslike the faint, far-off music you can hear sometimes, the music of thewind in winter sweeping across infinite, illimitable space.
"She allowed me to kiss her, and we knew then we held the key to theriddle of existence. We were twin-souls made one again, and togetherwe would go through all time and all eternity.
"But I think we are beginning now to realise that the sense of onenessis alien to the human state, and that the hour is at hand when we mustseparate and go out again into the night of ages alone."
In a condition of desolation the unhappy man rocked his meagre body toand fro as thus he spoke.
"If it will really help her," he said, "I think I shall put an end tomy present life. At least, I shall ask Ferdinand to do it, for I doubtwhether any man in the true enjoyment of his reason has really thepower to do it for himself. And yet, perhaps one ought not to saythat. So much can be done by prayer."
"Surely it is contrary to the will of God?" I said with a kind ofhorror.
"It is, undoubtedly," said Fitz, "as regards humanity at large. But itsometimes happens, you know, that one among us plays the game up sohigh that he gets a special decree. I almost think, Arbuthnot, that Ihave heard the Voice--and if I have, my unhappy Sonia will be able togo back to her people for a term, and I shall ask you, as my oldestfriend, a man whom my instincts tell me to trust, to accept the chargeof my little daughter."
To one poised delicately upon the plane of reason such a speech couldnot fail to be shocking. But it was so sincere, so reasoned, theholder of these views was so entirely the captain of his soul, that hiswords, as he uttered them, seemed to derive a kind of sanction which asI commit them to paper they do not appear to possess.
The counsel of one man to another does not amount to much in thosecases where the subject-matter of their discussion has been alreadyreferred to the High Court. But I felt that I should be unfaithful tothe elements that formed my own nature, acutely conscious as I was oftheir imperfect development, if I did not seek to give them some sortof an expression at such a moment as this.
"Fitz," I said, "I can claim no right to address you, except as ayounger brother. You belong to a higher order of things; your life ismore developed than mine, but I ask you in the name of God to refrainfrom the step you contemplate, unless you are absolutely convinced,beyond any possibility of error, that there is no other way out."
The unhappy man made no reply. His face had begun to seemunrecognisable.
I rose involuntarily from the chair in which I sat.
"Let us walk in the garden," I said.
The suggestion appeared to shape itself on my lips, regardless of thewill's volition. It was, perhaps, a recovered fragment of man'sheritage floating downwards from the past.
I opened the door and we went downstairs into the garden. It was themiddle of the night; what there was of the moon was almost whollyobscured; the air was mild with the purity of recent rain. Up and downthe wet lawns we walked, bareheaded and in our slippered feet.
Suddenly lights flashed upon us out of the shrubbery.
"It is all right," I called. "Do not disturb us. Go into another partof the grounds."
The voice seemed unlike my own, but the watchers obeyed it.
Nature exhorted us as we walked in the garden. Her purity, her calm,the incommunicable magic of her spaciousness, the thrall of hersplendour entered our veins. We were her children, flesh of her flesh,bone of her bone. The mighty Mother spoke to us.
A little wind moved softly among the gaunt branches of a pine.
"I must make quite sure that the Voice has spoken to me," said Fitz.
The unhappy man walked to the pine-tree, knelt down and seemedinvoluntarily to shroud his face with his hands.
I shrank back and turned away.
Quite suddenly my heart leapt with surprise and dismay. An unexpectedand sinister presence was by my side.
"I pity that poor fellow," said a voice softly. "I pity them both."
It was the voice of the King.
Habited in a voluminous mantle, the Victor of Rodova linked his armthrough mine in his paternal manner.
"Come, my friend," he said in a voice of urgent kindliness, "let uswalk in the garden."
Together we walked over the lawns, the King and I, with slow andmeasured steps.
"It is a beautiful night." Ferdinand the Twelfth took off his hat.
"God is in His heaven, sir," I said, softly.
"You are a God-fearing people," said the King; "that is a good thing.What can we do in the world without the fear of God? This nightreminds me of the night before Rodova. It was just like this, a calm,soft air, a little moist. You could hear the wind creeping softlyamong the pine-trees. At the bottom of your garden there was thegentle noise of a little river. All night the little fishes wereleaping and playing in its clear waters, and living their livesjoyously as it seemed good to them. And beyond the river were theAustrians, sixty thousand men with horses and cannons.
"The God of Armies had given the soul of my country into my care. Wasshe to remain a free and independent people as she had been since thetime of Alvan the First, or was she to be trampled under the heel ofthe oppressor? All night I walked in the garden, and I remember Iknelt down under the pine-tree yonder, as our friend is doing there.It is a wonderful thing how history keeps happening over again."
The King's voice had grown hushed and solemn.
"To-night is another crisis in the history of our country. I am olderthan I seem; there is a voice within which tells me that my course
isalmost run. That is why I have come to speak with my daughter. It isthe business of us Sveltkes to hold the balance in the scales ofdestiny. Since the time of Alvan the First there has been an unbrokenline of monarchy; perhaps it is decreed that it shall end to-night.But yet I cannot think so. The unseen power which enabled us towithstand the might of Austria will invest my daughter with wisdom andgrace."
There was a footfall on the soft turf, and we turned to find that Fitzhad joined us.
"Ha! Nevil," said the King in a voice of parental tenderness. "I wasexplaining to our good friend how this night reminds me of the eve ofRodova. Our lady the moon was in her present quarter; yonder was Mars,blood-red on the eastern horizon. There behind us was Jupiter, exactlyas we see him to-night; but on the night of Rodova Uranus was notvisible. It was a grave crisis in the history of our country; to-nightis a grave crisis also, for I feel that a term has been placed to mydays. But I walked all night in the garden, and I knelt down beneath asingle pine-tree, and the God of Armies spoke to me. 'Fear nothing,'said the God of Armies. 'At the break of day, cross the river thatflows at the bottom of the garden, and all will be well.'"
The light of the moon fell upon the King's face, That smiling andsubtle visage looked strangely luminous.
"An hour before daybreak," the King went on, "Parlowitz came to me.'Weissmann has come up in the night,' he said, 'with twenty thousandmen. If we cross the river, all is lost.' 'Fear nothing, Parlowitz,'I said. 'At daybreak we cross the river. The God of Armies would haveit so.' 'Then, sire,' said Parlowitz, 'give this to my wife when nextyou see her'--Parlowitz unfastened the collar of his tunic and took offa locket which he wore round his neck--'and tell her that it is my wishthat our second son John should succeed to my estate.' I then badeadieu to Parlowitz, for he would have it so; and as the dawn wasbreaking he was shot through the breast at the head of his division.But that was a glorious day in the annals of the Illyrian people; andyou, my dear Nevil, will have seen the noble statue that has beenraised to the memory of Parlowitz on the terrace at Blaenau."
"I have seen the statue," said Fitz, calmly. "A monument of piety, butabominable as a work of art."
"It is the work of the best sculptor in Illyria," said the King.
"There are no sculptors in Illyria," said Fitz, bluntly.
The King fell into a muse. I was sensible of Fitz's grip upon my arm.
"It is wonderful," said the King, softly, "how history continues tohappen over again. I seem to hear the voice again in the upper air:'At daybreak, cross the river at the bottom of the garden, and all willbe well.'"
The grip upon my arm grew tighter.
"Do not leave me," said Fitz in a hoarse whisper.
All night long the three of us walked up and down the lawns before thehouse. In one of the upper windows was a light. It was Sonia's room.
Few words passed between us, and in the main it was the King who spoke.Never once did Fitz relax his grip upon my arm. Indeed, as the hourspassed, it seemed to grow more tense. It had the convulsive tenacityof one who in the last extremity fights to keep the body united to thesoul.
Even I, who make no claim to be highly sensitised, was susceptible ofthe ominous challenge of the force that was enfolding us. Silence waseven more terrible than speech. The resources of the ages were in thescale against us.
"For God's sake do not leave me!" said my unhappy friend in a whisperof terror.
At last the first faint pencilings of the dawn began to declarethemselves in the upper air. My slippered feet were soaked and myteeth were chattering with the chill of the morning. A curioussensation, which I had never felt before, began to steal over me. Witha thrill of suffocating, incommunicable horror I began slowly torealise that I was no longer the master of myself.
Fitz's convulsed grip was still upon my arm, but the sense of him hadgrown remote. He was slipping farther and farther away.
"Hold me!" he whispered; and again, "Hold me!" The stifled voice waslike that of one in whose company I was drowning.
The voice of the King sounded quite near, although it was with dullstupefaction that I heard his words.
"The day is breaking. The river flows at the bottom of the garden."
The fingers of my friend no longer clasped my arm. In the half-light Isaw the King produce a revolver from the folds of his mantle. Hehanded it to Fitz with a paternal, almost deprecating gesture, and wewere both powerless to deny him. It seemed to me that I was standingoutside all that was happening. The sense of distance appeared ever toincrease.
I witnessed the King kiss the forehead of his son-in-law, and heard himgive him his blessing. Then I seemed to hear the voice of Fitz cryingpiteously,
"Sonia, Sonia, help me!"
"Look over there," said the King; "the day is breaking. It is anotherglorious sunrise for the people of Illyria."
"Yes, indeed, sir," said a voice that broke the spell.
The prayer of Fitz had been heard. Sonia had come unperceived into ourmidst.
"I have come to taste the morning, it is so good," she said. "And you,how early you have risen!"
The King laughed. He seemed to enfold his daughter with that visage ofsmiling subtlety.
"We have been walking in the garden, my friends and I," he said. "Wehave had a pleasant talk together. The position of the stars remindedme of the eve of Rodova, except that Uranus was not with us. It isalways well to know the position of Uranus."
I felt Fitz slip the revolver into my hand.
"Come," he said in his tone of natural decision, "let us go and have abath and get ready for breakfast."
While the King continued to discourse amiably with his daughter we madeour escape.
In the privacy of my room over the stables we removed the cartridgesfrom the revolver.
Fitz handed the weapon to me. "Keep it," he said, "as a memento ofFerdinand the Twelfth. I should have crossed the river if Sonia hadnot heard my call."
Fitz shivered; but in his haggard face I thought that reason was stillenthroned.